


Golden Filaments in Fair Design

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-02
Updated: 2010-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8700301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Samuel, an orphaned boy, lucks into a life he could never have imagined, one full of wonder, magic, and love. Fate sends him to a couple with a traveling show, and growing up amid the strange and beautiful performers is everything he’d dreamed. His childhood is happy, but as an adult, Sam becomes ever lonelier and develops two distinct personalities. There is the shy, helpful young man who avoids social company, but there is also the charismatic and seductive artiste, first inspired to perform by a green eyed stranger he meets one night by chance. When the stranger - a man named Dean who seems oddly familiar to Sam - becomes a very real force in his life, Sam learns the other man's deep secret. Dean too is living a double life - one Sam would have never expected and that leads him down a road of magic and discovery. [Big Bang 2009 Fic]





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Fic title:** Golden Filaments In Fair Design

**Author name:** Kelleigh

**Artist name:** Vorpal Pen

**Genre:** Supernatural AU

**Pairing:** Sam/Dean

**Rating:** Adult [for graphic sex and some violence]

**Word count:** 38,500+

**Warnings:** Alternate Reality. You can either _trust me_ with the rest of the warnings [since I think knowing could ruin the story] or go [here](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/249682.html#cutid2) for more detailed warnings [spoilers for the fic] and explanations.

**Spoilers:** None for the show.

**Summary:** Samuel, an orphaned boy, lucks into a life he could never have imagined, one full of wonder, magic, and love. Fate sends him to a couple with a traveling show, and growing up amid the strange and beautiful performers is everything he’d dreamed. His childhood is happy, but as an adult, Sam becomes ever lonelier and develops two distinct personalities. There is the shy, helpful young man who avoids social company, but there is also the charismatic and seductive artiste, first inspired to perform by a green eyed stranger he meets one night by chance. When the stranger - a man named Dean who seems oddly familiar to Sam - becomes a very real force in his life, Sam learns the other man's deep secret. Dean too is living a double life - one Sam would have never expected and that leads him down a road of magic and discovery. Written for the 2009 Big Bang challenge.

 

**Link to art:** [Art by Vorpal-Pen](http://vorpal-pen.livejournal.com/95888.html)

**Golden Filaments in Fair Design**

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, no doubt you have seen and heard many wondrous things in this theater - dazzling acrobatics and daring feats. You have been amazed, impressed and, dare I say, shocked! But, dear audience, I invite you now to be taken away. I can guarantee that here today you shall witness an act so splendid, so sensuous; it will steal your breath away. Some have called it the greatest act extant; others say it will melt your heart. I promise you this, dear people, that if you open your hearts and suspend your disbelief, you shall be forever changed by what you see today.

 

And now, I give you...

 

Love.

  


 

_I think our heart-strings were, like warp and woof_

_In some firm fabric, woven in and out;_

_Your golden filaments in fair design_

_Across my duller fibre._   


In a small, dark corner of a small, dark room, Samuel dreamed.

 

This young boy, only eleven years old, dreamed of what all orphans wanted: a home, friends, and a family to call his own. But for each year that passed at the orphanage, these dreams seemed further and further out of reach.

 

Sam had strange dreams too: far away places and unfamiliar faces. They were fantastical, new worlds to explore in his mind's eye during the night. He learned to keep them a secret after the matron called him "overly imaginative" but made it sound like a curse.

 

There were plenty of girls and boys, some staying longer than others. Those children who left him alone - who didn’t trip him in the hallways or make fun of his habits – they were his friends. He’d tried many times to make friends with the animals on the grounds, but even the squirrels seemed uninterested in the overly tall, whipcord boy.

 

Young Sam knew he didn’t fit in, though the orphanage drew children from many walks of life. Being parentless was all they really had in common. The story between the matron and her staff went that his parents simply disappeared, leaving behind the aloof and coltish boy who spent most of his time watching the rest of the world through his dingy window. Sam knew very little. Perhaps his mother and father had gotten lost on a great journey across the continents, never able to return for their young boy. Or, Sam wondered, they could have sailed across one of the great Seas and been swept away in a torrent of wind and rain. Whatever the truth was, no one knew it.

 

One fateful day during the heavy heat of August, Sam spied a round sort of man pushing a cart filled with boxes down the sidewalk. He jumped up from his seat on the lawn, intending to warn this man about the uneven pavers, but it was too late. The cart tipped, spilling several boxes over the sidewalk and onto the grounds.

 

Shy but ultimately kind, Sam rushed over, picking up cartons and barely noticed their weight. Neither did he notice the man’s regard; the stranger watched the child reload his cart exactly as before, even though the boxes were awkward and heavy.

 

When the task was done, Sam smiled timidly and started to run back to the orphanage.

 

Curious, the stranger called after him. “Young man, what is your name?”

 

Sam stopped and turned, unused to anyone wanting to know his name unless they wanted to express displeasure or annoyance.

 

“Samuel, sir. I only wanted to help when your cart tipped, I should have warned you about the sidewalk.”

 

The man let Sam stammer through his explanation, listening with a smile until the boy began to apologize profusely.

 

“Samuel. Sam?” He gentled his tone. “You misunderstand. I want to thank you for your help, not reprimand you.”

 

The boy’s eyebrow raised skeptically.

 

“I mean it. You have done me a service. Do you live here, Sam?”

 

He was confused by the numerous questions the dark haired man was asking, but answered. “I do, but so do lots of other orphans.”

 

“And I doubt many of them would give aid to a stranger as you have,” he laughed jovially, his round belly shaking with chuckles, and surprising Sam. “But please forgive me, I neglected to introduce myself. My name is Benjamin Montgomery, but you may certainly call me Ben.” He reached a long arm out to Sam who hesitantly returned the handshake.

 

It was rare that a stranger took such interest in Sam. Most men and women coming to the orphanage passed him by in favor of less awkward children: the girls with ringlets and bows and the boys with ruddy cheeks and eager smiles. Sam found he didn't want to part company with the man just yet. Diversions and friends were rare in his life.

 

“Where were you going with all this stuff?”

 

“Ah Sam, I’m glad you asked,” and Ben did sound gratified. He opened one box and Sam peeked within to find brightly colored costumes – hats and accessories of every shape and material. Another contained paper flyers with bold black ink declaring things like ‘magical’ and ‘wondrous’ in curved calligraphy.

 

He couldn't contain his curiosity. “What is this for?”

 

“Well, Sam, I have a traveling show. Have you ever seen one?” Sam shook his head. “It’s small, but entertaining and draws suitable crowds wherever we stop.” Ben lifted one of the flyers and passed it to the boy. Sam's bright eyes flitted over pictures: a woman dancing, a man in a tuxedo, and various animals. It all looked and sounded perfectly intriguing to Sam. However, there was disappointment in his gaze, knowing he’d never see anything so magnificent.

 

Ben was a keen sort of man and could see the emotions crossing Sam’s face - awe swiftly replaced with regret. This young boy had made an impression and Ben was fascinated.

 

“Sam,” he began inquiringly while meeting the boy’s eyes. "Do you think you could take me inside so that I may speak with your matron?”

 

“Why?” The wariness quickly returned.

 

“Listen to me, Sam,” Ben tried to soothe. “My troupe is small, just starting out, but we are a family. I think that perhaps, if you wish, you should join us.”

 

Used to tricks and teasing, Sam did not believe Ben’s generous offer. “You want me?”

 

Ben smiled sincerely. “I think you’d make a wonderful addition to our family.” He couldn’t miss the twitch of young Sam’s lips at the mention of family. “It would be a home, Sam, though likely a strange one, and whatever else you need it to be. My wife and I can tutor you, take you across the provinces, and give you honest work if you'd like it.”

 

“Work?” Sam was already made to clean rooms and scrub hallways – he abhorred chores.

 

“There are plenty of things to do with a traveling show, Sam. Nothing too trying, dear boy, a child should be free to run and play and learn! We have animal acts...would you like to help care for the horses and our clever ferrets? How about learning to help with the acrobatic acts? Or the magicians, they can teach you such wonderful tricks!” 

 

Ben was painting such a vivid picture that Sam’s heart started to ache. His dreams had always shown him a colorful life beyond the bland brick walls of his orphanage. He wanted so badly to be a part of what Ben was enthusiastically describing but he still held back.

 

“Do you have other children?” Sam wasn’t well liked and he was afraid things would be no different with Ben’s family if he suddenly intruded on their lives.

 

A flash of sadness crossed Ben’s face, enough for Sam to catch. “Unfortunately no, my wife and I have none. There are a few members of our troupe with their own children, so you would never lack for friendship.”

 

He doesn’t mean to look relieved, but Ben noticed.

 

“So what do you say, Sam? Would you like to join my family?”

 

“I think…” Sam stuttered, trying to be as polite as he could manage, even when his mind was spinning and he could barely contain his joy. “Yes, sir, I think that would be agreeable.”

 

“Ah!” Ben laughed exuberantly once more and Sam flushed, completely unused to being overwhelmed. “Excellent! Now, I think you need to introduce me to the matron of this establishment and we can get things in order.”

 

He led Ben inside after securing the cart on the grounds. The severe and sallow-faced matron was displeased to see young Samuel, who was an obvious blemish in her ordered life. No doubt she assumed the worst when he appeared in her office with the stranger. Perhaps he had upset the man: stolen money or insulted him. She was taken aback when the portly gentleman asked to adopt the young boy while smiles transformed their faces as if they shared some grand secret.

 

Sam could hardly keep still long enough to listen as Ben explained his situation and desire to have Sam join his family. The matron glanced over at the young boy, expecting him to decide between his mysterious new friend and life at the orphanage where he was surrounded by normal children and adults who wanted little to do with him.

 

In the end, Sam's choice was obvious. 

 

He didn't look back after he packed his small bag and walked away with Ben, eager to start a new life.

In the stories Sam could remember, traveling troupes of men and women - beautiful, talented, and exotic performers – appeared and disappeared into the country mists like mystical beings. The shows these groups staged were small but drew crowds wherever they journeyed - their intent to break the monotony of a hardworking life yet never to linger in any one place.

 

As Ben and Sam made their way from the orphange to the fairgrounds in the neighboring county, the older man regaled the boy with short, exciting tales of his time amongst his company, but those stories did little to prepare Sam for what he was about to see.

 

It was a sight unlike any Sam had seen before. The brightly colored banners and painted trailers looked out of place in the drab, dry fields. The caravan formed a semi-circle of protection around a stage. Massive spider webs of rigging and metal beams formed a cover against the ochre sky. Compared to the dull edifices of the orphanage, Sam was instantly enthralled. Ben was quiet and allowed Sam to take everything in as they stood motionless in the brown grass.

 

People of different sizes and shapes – all striking and magnificent – milled about, weaving between trailers and talking with one another. When Sam finally forced his legs to move, Ben walked with him to one of the large trailers where a tall, statuesque woman waited. Catching sight of young Sam, her hands flew to her mouth and her gasp was audible even at fifty paces.

 

Getting closer, Sam could see her eyes filling with tears that were quickly wiped away, yet she still looked overjoyed.

 

“My wife, Jackie,” Ben whispered as they approached.

 

They could not have been a more oddly matched pair - the round, cherry-faced Ben and the stately, elegant Jackie. But as her hands dropped, the young boy could see that the couple shared the same smile. Their grins were wide and kind but both possessed a twist of mystery. Sam instantly forgot the constant parade of eager parents-to-be from his former accommodations where, in all his years, no couple had ever approached him.

 

Jackie knelt in front of Sam, matching his height. He realized his mind had wandered and he’d missed Ben’s introduction.

 

"And young master Samuel here agreed when I asked if he'd like to join our family."

 

"Sweet boy," Jackie's voice was smooth and pleasant to hear. It was the kind of voice Sam imagined belonging to a queen or heroine from his fairy tales. She certainly looked the part - brown hair thick and smooth, olive skin nearly flawless and blue eyes that sparkled. "You have no idea how much this means to us, having you here."

 

She extended a hand, such grace even in the small movement, and Sam reached out.

 

"I promise, Sam, you'll love it here and I will do everything I can to make growing up with us such a wonderful adventure." 

 

To a child like Sam, kindness had come little or not at all. Feeling the truth and eagerness in Jackie's words, Sam was struck with warmth in his heart. He did not know then to call it love, but it was wondrous all the same.

 

Jackie guided him to sit beside her on the wide steps of the trailer as Ben stood and watched. Sam's hand was still twined with Jackie's, their long fingers clasped together as if both feared the other might up and disappear. She spoke quietly, pointing out people and objects and places. Sam did his best to pay attention but there was so much. 

 

When Jackie finally paused to ask what Sam would like for lunch, he answered quickly and without thinking.

 

"Anything but tuna fish."

 

He feared for a moment that his reply was too insolent. Jackie clapped her hands once and laughed.

 

"Are you sick of tuna fish, Sam?"

 

He swallowed nervously, but Jackie silently encouraged his honesty. "We had it every lunch at the orphanage, ma'am."

 

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, you never have to eat it ever again. How about I have Ben warm us two bowls of his delicious corn chowder?"

 

Sam beamed. "That would be fine, ma'am."

 

"You never have to call me ma'am, dear boy," she explained, nudging Sam with her elbow. "Jackie is just fine."

 

"Thank you, Jackie," he tried again, stomach fluttering when he was rewarded with a nod and a grin. "Chowder sounds good."

 

A girl with brightly colored hair – strands of green and purple and pink mixed in with blonde – passed them by with an older woman and waved, delighted when Sam shyly waved back. She yanked at her mother’s hand and pointed to him, but her smile was bright and genuine.

 

And Sam could finally feel that yes, this would be _home_.

  


 

_The world stands out on either side_

_No wider than the heart is wide;_

_Above the world is stretched the sky, --_

_No higher than the soul is high._   


For over seven years, Sam led a charmed life.

 

He was free to explore as he pleased for the first few weeks. The performers and workers knew who he was - gossip spread quickly through their small community when Ben and Jackie eagerly shared their good news. Sam was welcomed by all; he wandered in and out of trailers, shaking hands and receiving kind hugs.

 

Each night, their quiet field would fill with an audience, wide-eyed faces watching as the acts took to their modest stage. Sam sat with them as often as he could, hands clenched in the dry, autumn grass. Like the rest of the audience, he was enraptured watching the artistes and musicians. Half of Sam's time was spent observing the crowds while they were dazzled, catching the glee and wonder reflected in their eyes.

 

When the troupe packed up and left those fairgrounds a few weeks after Sam joined them, the young boy sat in the front seat of Ben's trailer listening to him describe where they'd be going next.

 

"Have you ever been outside the territory, Sam?"

 

He shook his head, mouth filled with one of Jackie's oatmeal cookies.

 

"We'll come back of course," Ben continued, "probably in the spring. But for winter, the South is still much better."

 

"What's it like?" Sam didn't remember ever leaving, but his early years were hazy at best.

 

"It's warmer, certainly! There's none of this bitter wind or the _will-it-won't-it-rain_ cloudy skies."

 

"Greener, too." Sam craned his neck to hear Jackie who sat comfortably behind them. "It'll be another adventure, Samuel. More things you've never seen before. Are you excited?"

 

Nodding enthusiastically, Sam grabbed another cookie from the napkin on his lap and turned to face out the window. The entire caravan drove behind them, so his view was not obscured. In the days that followed, the Montgomery’s trailer led the way through increasingly greener scenery, sunlight glinting off the morning dew and reflecting rainbows in Sam's eyes.

 

For years, the troupe followed a vague pattern, winding their way through territories. There were favored venues, communities that looked forward to their arrival year after year. New courses were plotted and Ben was always on the look out for thriving areas. He was willing to cross the entire continent to bring their entertainment to new audiences.

 

In those endless days of wandering paradise, Sam thrived; he saw and learned more than he could have ever imagined. With Ben and Jackie’s encouragement, books and lessons were abandoned early and most of his 'education’ focused on the ways of the troupe.

 

By the light of the hazy, violet sunrises, Enrique and his small crew taught Sam how to scale riggings and swing from beams against the open sky, eyes drawn out as far as they could see. His hands became rougher and stronger as he learned how their stage was assembled and dismantled in each new location.

 

Roger, the wizened old gamekeeper, showed Sam all he knew about the animals that traveled with the troupe. The young boy spent days at Roger’s elbow learning how to care for the equestrienne's horses and the large, finicky cats that were "trained" by the comedians. Sam was glad those creatures found him more appealing than had the squirrels from the orphanage.

 

When Ben and Jackie (though it was mostly Ben) insisted on a dab of actual tutoring, he went to Galen, the troupe’s illusionist and all-around savant. At first, Sam was skeptical – Galen looked like the strict task masters from his former school days – but he soon stood corrected. Galen, one of the troupe’s older members, never passed up the chance to expound on his scholastic endeavors and Sam was easily lost in his vivid and varied tales. Adding to his early schooling, Sam learned mathematics, grammar, and the histories of the territories through which they passed. 

 

Their lessons were often interrupted by good natured banter between Galen and his husband Dustin, whose slight frame and average appearance masked one of the most beautiful voices Sam had ever heard. Sam would sit, amused as the two men bickered, both winking at Sam when the other wasn't looking.

 

Galen and Dustin also made sure Sam was tutored in less common subjects: the best methods to barter with street vendors in Havlan, why it was never a good idea to argue with housewives in Norlasco, and which distilleries crafted the finest ‘shine in the northern provinces. The latter Sam did not understand until he was older, but he appreciated the lesson all the same.

 

The mischievous blonde imp with the rainbow locks trailed after Sam like a curious kitten, skittering behind crates and corners whenever he turned around. For weeks she was his constant shadow. Katie was her name, Jackie said, and she was only a little younger than Sam. The girl finally found her courage when Sam tripped over the steps of his trailer. She stood nearby and giggled when he attempted to right himself.

 

“You’re clumsy,” she’d pointed out. There was no hint of cruelty in her words, just childish honesty.

 

“Your hair doesn’t match.”

 

“I know,” she twirled on the spot, greens and purples fanning out in the sun. “Isn’t it the best?”

 

Sam didn’t know about that, but he nodded anyway and Katie was placated. From that first unremarkable introduction they became inseparable, teasing and taunting one another at every opportunity and banding together to torment the rest of the company. It was strange having such a friend; Katie never cared what they were doing, be it making wildflower chains or digging rocks out of dried riverbeds, and neither did Sam so long as they were together.

 

Katie was supposedly learning to dance. Her mother did makeup for the troupe’s performers, creating exotic looks to transport their crowds, using nothing more than brushes and colored dust. She was endlessly frustrated with her daughter’s lack of focus. Katie preferred dallying with Sam though he tried his best to coax her back to her lessons, knowing full well her mother’s heart was set on Katie becoming a true artiste.

 

After some time, Sam stopped watching every performance; he already knew the acts forward and back. He craved activity after his lackluster days in the orphanage, so Ben set him to taking tickets each night, collecting coins and faded bills. Katie joined him soon enough and Ben began paying them. Earning money sparked something in Katie and the two started to pool whatever they earned, everything stuffed in an old slipper beneath Sam’s mattress.

 

“We can buy a castle someday!”

 

Sam wasn’t sure if castles even existed so he tried thinking smaller. They were combing through the grass where their audience sat the night before, pocketing all the small coins and trinkets they found.

 

“Or we could buy a trailer.”

 

Katie’s face scrunched in distaste. “Why would we get a trailer? We already have those!”

 

“But one day we might want one of our own.” It made perfect sense to Sam. Nearing fifteen then, he often woke cramped and crunched in his small bed in Ben and Jackie’s trailer.

 

“Oh,” is all Katie said. Her hair was entirely pink that month, clashing with the burnt olive grass. The idea stuck with Sam though, and he would venture to bring it up some other time – most likely when Katie was in a spat with her mother and threatening to run away again.

 

Life in the caravan agreed with Sam. He grew tall and strong – ‘handsome’ in Jackie’s words but a ‘giant oaf’ in Katie’s. Even in his wildest dreams, while he had slept in the small, institutional cot so many years ago, he could never have imagined his life now. Ben laughed and called them a ‘proper family’. Sam didn’t really know what that implied but he loved what the three of them built together.

 

Ben remained kind and generous, just as he’d been when Sam met him. He ran his troupe with enthusiasm and skill and was loved in turn by his performers and workers. He encouraged Sam to explore – playing and learning to his heart’s content - and Sam was always willing to work in exchange for that freedom.

 

It was Jackie, however, to whom Sam grew the closest. She treasured the boy – her Samuel – and became a true mother. He sought her out when he cried, pestered her when he was bored, and sat with her for endless hours just to listen to her talk.

 

When they traveled or when there was no show, Sam spent his evenings with his adoptive parents. He preferred quiet nights with Ben and Jackie over the larger community dinners. Cavorting around with Katie and slipping treats into their pockets was fun, but Sam liked meals with just the three of them. Jackie would cook and they’d watch old movies on the faded television screen. 

 

Ben had a passion for the old films, buying up boxes of the black cassettes from market dealers and pawn shops whenever he could find such antiques. Before being adopted, Sam had only ever seen the occasional news broadcast from remote stations still able to use their battered, leaning antennas. Most news spread through travelers, shared by journeymen moving amongst the provinces. But the movies Ben brought home were fascinating. He enjoyed all the comedies, dramas, and grand romances playing out on the small screen. If he found one he particularly enjoyed, he’d swipe the cassette from Ben’s collection and watch it with Katie when her mother was out. She didn’t seem as mesmerized by the stories of love as Sam was, but she watched them anyway, willing to share her collection of sweets.

 

The only things remaining from Sam’s previous life were the dreams. Some were wonderful, similar to the dreams that filled his early years, and they showed him strange places and people he wanted to recognize, but couldn’t. Warm looks, a full heart, and happy days wrapped Sam in his sleep, kept him peacefully in his imaginings until the morning chimes.

 

Others were terrible. Sam’s pillow bore the marks of clenched teeth from when he would wake up screaming, quickly silenced before Ben and Jackie could hear. As if his senses were playing tricks on him, Sam would wake up able to see, hear, and _smell_ what he had experienced in the nightmares. But fortunately, the visions and the sensations faded with the sunrise and were soon forgotten.

 

Regardless, Sam was as happy as he’d ever been. He couldn’t know how his life compared to that when his parents were alive, but he rarely considered such things. Eventually he stopped being able to recall anything of the years before the orphanage. Those memories faded and he didn’t remember enough to ever miss them.

The first performance after Sam turned eighteen was set upon the gravel flats on the outskirts of Hallemere. Sam could stand and imagine the land as it used to be when there’d been nothing but grey dust and stone for miles, filling the air with choking bits of rock. Now the earth had begun to reclaim her continent. Low trees sprang up from even the smallest gaps in the hard earth. Grass, too, had managed to grow where there was soil surrounding colorless ledges and boulders.

 

Sam wandered away just as the stage lights dimmed for the entrance of Carmina, the “Voice of the Heavens". The glen he came upon was bathed in pale yellow light from the full moon and Sam expected it to be empty, but a lone figure was illuminated in the center, balanced on one leg and appearing like a mythical woodland statue.

 

It took him a moment to recognize the long, graceful limbs and serene countenance. _Jackie_. She looked absorbed, meditative, and took no notice of her son's approach. She was lost in a strange routine of strength and balance. The movements were captivating and Sam certain Jackie had done this before an audience. Her techniques were practiced and assured.

 

Sam had never brought it up, but his mother rarely watched the nightly performances. She would slip away as the opening acts were announced. He always assumed she had other matters to attend to in the running of the company but perhaps there was another motive altogether.

 

Quietly stepping forward, he watched Jackie bend and pose, holding each new attitude for a time. He didn't _know_ this woman, this artiste. Sam had no idea the human body could perform in such ways - displays of artistry and physique more than mere acrobatics and dance. Her lithe muscles seemed sculpted as if with a craftsman's eye. This was _art_. Watching her drills, Sam could almost envision an imaginary partner moving in accompaniment with Jackie.

 

His mother could easily be a featured act with this type of performance, yet she lingered here, displaying her abilities to the clear, dark sky and unknowingly, her audience of one.

 

Distant applause made its way into their secluded glen as if given solely for Jackie's performance instead of the public show. His mother finally stood straight and spied Sam crouched low and still. She pushed her hair away from her face and immediately the mood changed. Sam was no longer faced with the intriguing artiste - only his beloved caretaker.

 

"Samuel!" That name belonged only to Jackie - not even Katie dared to call him that unless she wanted Sam telling her mother how little she actually practiced her dancing. "What are you doing here?"

 

An explanation didn't come quickly to Sam's lips; he was mystified by the changes he had witnessed in Jackie.

 

"Why aren't you watching the show or helping Rique?"

 

That question was easier to answer as Sam had been dodging shows since his fifteenth summer.

 

“Katie and I sold tickets tonight then she went to help her mother." He shuffled his feet nervously, kicking up dirt and gravel. "I came out here to explore."

 

Jackie accepted this with a nod. Her body relaxed and she moved to sit on one of the flat boulders. Before she could speak, Sam stammered ahead without thought.

 

"Why aren't you a part of the show, Jackie?" Her blue eyes snapped to his. "What you were doing, it was amazing! You were better than the hoofers or Carmina; I bet you could be our feature-"

 

"I know, Samuel."

 

Sam couldn't miss the sadness in his mother's words, the deep weariness covering old wounds. He stayed quiet, waiting for Jackie to compose herself and step out of the glen.

 

"I think you're old enough now," she eventually sighed. "Come with me back to the camp."

 

Sam loped along beside her, his own long limbs on the wrong side of awkward. Since last summer he'd hit a seemingly unstoppable growth spurt, bones stretching painfully almost overnight, and Sam hadn't gotten used to his new body. They cut between trailers, avoiding the main stage and booths where performers and spectators could walk and mingle, sampling rich foods and drink between acts. Laughter and applause followed them, but the pair didn't stop until they were back in their trailer.

 

Jackie disappeared behind the rear partition, returning with a soft-cornered box and settled beside Sam.

 

"You used to have an act, didn't you?" The suspicion fell from Sam's lips.

 

"Ben told you how we met, right?"

 

Sam related the familiar story. "You came to a show he worked on and eventually joined to help him."

 

His mother shook her head, voice soft as if she feared someone might overhear. "I was already with the troupe when Ben joined our stage crew. I was barely past my twentieth summer and I had a joint act with another artiste."

 

When Jackie opened the box, Sam saw faded bills and black and white photos, but the images didn't hold a candle to the living spectacle Sam witnessed in the glen. Jackie, paired with a male partner, was easily recognizable even pictured so much younger.

 

"Jacqueline DuBois?" Sam read from the photograph’s printed caption

 

"My given name and the one I used for performing. I changed it to Jackie when I married Ben and stopped doing my act." She sighed. "I trained with my parents when I was young, learning their act before my partner and I made it our own."

 

"You should have seen her, Sam."

 

Ben's voice startled them. The open metal door behind him let in the mild evening air as he stood on the threshold looking at Jackie with a soft expression.

 

"When your mother was on stage no one could take their eyes off of her. It was artistry and grace at its finest."

 

"Why did you stop?" Sam's curiosity overwhelmed his rational mind. "If you were good, then why-"

 

"Dreams change, Samuel." Jackie's smile was forced. "Ben and I wanted to start our life together. He'd just taken over management of our troupe and I did what was best for us."

 

Ben sat beside Jackie, holding her hand within his, and didn't add to her story. Sam knew there was more to it but he trusted his caretakers to share the rest eventually. Perhaps it had nothing to do with Sam - perhaps _they_ were not ready. His eyes were drawn back to the aged playbills; the lines of Jackie's poses were beautiful even on the yellowed papers. He was fascinated by the picture his mother and her partner made, and wanted to see more.

 

"Jackie," Sam finally ventured, focused on the brochures, "can I - do you think I could learn to do this?"

 

"Oh, Samuel." Her expression shifted immediately. Anticipation, surprise and apprehension all warred within her eyes. "I don't think I'll be able to-"

 

"In the glen, you were perfect. You could teach me!"

 

"Sam-"

 

"Jackie," Ben interrupted, squeezing her hand. "I think this may be a good idea."

 

"Ben, what if-"

 

"Sam," his father turned to him. "Do you want to learn to perform?"

 

He didn't really need to consider. "Of course!" Sam had never felt this kind of excitement thrumming through him. "Please Jackie. I know you can teach me to do this." He didn't even know what yet to call it.

 

Sam waited while Jackie silently debated, looking at Ben and wringing her hands. When she spoke, her voice seemed distant.

 

"You're going to grow handsomely, my Samuel."

 

Sam didn't know what place the wistfulness had in his mother's tone, but it was unmistakable.

 

"You'll be a beautiful man and so many will come to watch you. I know you will enthrall and bewitch them." She stopped and seemed to shake herself from a trance. "It will be work, Samuel, hard work. But I'll try to pass on everything I can."

 

He hugged her then, throwing himself into his mother's arms as his mind raced. Ben stood watching with tempered amusement. Before that night, Sam had never considered performing in their show, always content to share in the successes of his family and friends, helping wherever he could. But there had been something in the way Jackie moved; his entire body yearned to achieve that kind of agility and refinement.

 

Sam couldn't wait to begin and he said as much to his parents. Jackie had banished all traces of sadness and presentiment and she laughed good naturedly at her son's gaiety, telling him that they could start as soon as the show moved on from Hallemere.

 

"But that's over a week!"

 

She was not swayed by Sam's pout. "And there's work to be done here that can't be avoided, Samuel."

 

His face fell but Jackie quickly grinned to soften the blow. "That does not mean there aren't things you could be doing to prepare."

 

Sam leaned forward eagerly. "Like what?"

In the days that followed, the show moved on from Hallemere and Sam dogged his mother's steps. His mind was constantly filled-to-the-brim with questions and he felt compelled to ask them all. Jackie was patient and answered what she could: the ways Sam needed to train his body, whether or not he needed a partner, and if he actually had to be made up with kohl and rouge like the other artistes.

 

In the months that followed, the troupe left the Northern territories once more for the warmer Southern climates. Sam developed an ordered routine much to the chagrin of Katie's free spirited nature. At each new location he worked with Enrique. The hard labor made him stronger and taught Sam to use his limbs and developing musculature in coordinated effort as he tried to banish the awkwardness of youth for good. His long hours under the Southern sun browned his skin and while Katie - blue and yellow tresses then - made fun of him, she was always willing to rub soothing lotion over his reddened shoulders.

 

Sam ran every day, sometimes ending up miles into the desolate wilderness through which they traveled. Katie, eager to help when it wasn't requisite, started instructing him on various forms of dance and ballet. She laughed herself into frenzies at first as she led Sam through simple choreography, but he was soon able to master whatever she shared.

 

Jackie, well aware of her son's goals, watched with hawk-sharp eyes and guided as she saw fit. The pair nearly disappeared from community life. Sam threw himself into every kind of lesson, taking each of Jackie's instructions and pushing his body to its limits. As the long days drew on, Jackie was more and more impressed with Sam's progressing abilities.

 

In the years that followed, the Montgomery Company grew larger as Ben allowed new acts to join their traveling band. The troupe eventually sought new audiences and the show began an ever more westward course. It took them closer to the cities, the low-sprawled industrial centers Ben had avoided for so long. 

 

Anticipation ran deep throughout the troupe. Cities meant larger crowds and more time in one place - more income in return for their efforts. But with those advantages came the realization that cities held an all together different kind of society - one that thrived in dark alleys and ramshackle buildings. The company only passed through the Western provinces when needed - restoring funds and picking up fresh acts.

 

The closer they got, the more the mood of the company shifted. Nerves were heightened, excitement held in every bated breath. Galen and Dustin told stories while the youngest gypsies listened to tales of places they had never seen or were too young to remember.

 

And within the traveling community, a treasured boy transformed into a beloved man. Sam grew exactly as Jackie prophesied - handsome and strong, beautiful in his passions. He had yet to perform but he bided his time, knowing he would feel when he was ready. Each day, every new mile they traveled, brought him closer. Sam waited, he knew not for what, but he was patient.

 

It would come.


	2. Part II

  


 

_All I could see from where I stood_

_Was three long mountains and a wood;_

_I turned and looked another way,_

_And saw three islands in a bay._

_So with my eyes I traced the line_

_Of the horizon, thin and fine,_

_Straight around till I was come_

_Back to where I'd started from;_

_And all I saw from where I stood_

_Was three long mountains and a wood._   


"Katie! What are you _doing_?"

 

"Kisses for coins, Sam!"

 

The tiny blonde woman laughs as another patron lays his lips to her cheek and slides a thin coin into her waiting hand.

 

Sam Montgomery glares at his best friend, embarrassed on her behalf as the queue forms in front of her makeshift booth. Katie's unfazed, twirling a lock of reddish hair around her fingers and smiling coquettishly at her clientele.

 

"Oh Sam, it's just for fun," she scolds playfully between solicited kisses. "Maybe we could save to buy a newer stovetop."

 

That sounds appealing, though Sam would choose a less discomfiting way to earn the money. He and Katie purchased their own trailer nearly a year ago - their stack of soft, worn bills enough to buy their youthful emancipation. Sam is finally able to stretch out on his mattress and Katie is no longer under her mother's watchful gaze. It’s small but their trailer is beginning to feel like home and Sam feels content living there.

 

While his best friend is suitably distracted, Sam slips away from the male crowd she has drawn. He watches from a distance though, uncomfortable with the throng and unwilling to leave Katie unprotected. They have a show to prepare for but the booths are set up early, always drawing a pre-show congregation when they're close to a city.

 

The troupe's on a swing around San Mira and they've been popular enough that Ben has extended their stay for another week. Sam likes seeing the cities - the differing vistas and the varied inhabitants - but he prefers the wide open North. Here, it's easy to miss the expansive skies and smaller villages. Contrarily, Katie adores their current path, her enthusiasm evident during every performance. She's more carefree and outgoing, always welcomed by the men who've never seen anyone as exotic, and she's drawn to the promises of a different 'shine hall - not to mention new admirers - every night.

 

A bell sounds over the crowd's exuberant chatter, signaling the start of that evening's show. Sam catches Katie waving farewell to her gathered patrons before taking off to help her mother. Sam walks in the opposite direction, making his way to his parents' trailer and he finds his mother sitting on the metal steps.

 

"Full night," he acknowledges, taking the glass of mint-sweetened tea she offers.

 

"San Mira has always been good for us." Jackie's eyes are focused on the low clouds above; the nebulous masses of water and air are reflecting the multi-hued stage lights for a subdued show of colors. "But I think I'm ready to move on."

 

Nodding in sympathy, Sam thinks back on their time around San Mira. It’s a thriving city with enough people to warrant multiple stops, but for all the excitement Sam agrees with his mother. He's eager for something else and his mind is set on cooler, windswept plains and rolling hills.

 

"When do we leave?"

 

"Not for a few days at least. Your father is working on -" Jackie pauses and twists to look at Sam. "Oh, I suppose it's all right to tell you, Samuel, but you mustn’t breathe a word of this to any one else until we're sure."

 

"I promise, Jackie. What's going to happen?"

 

She glances around furtively, though her face is alight with giddiness, and whispers conspiratorially to Sam.

 

"Ben is trying to persuade a new act to join us - something we've never had before."

 

New performers are not unheard of but they are rarer these days. An established troupe can be intimidating; most performers grow up in their respective companies, even though the Montgomerys are more welcoming than most. But Jackie seems inordinately roused so there must be something special about Ben's latest acquisition.

 

"What is it?"

 

"Have you ever heard of the Amazing Rosalyn?" Sam shakes his head but the name already conjures vivid images in his mind. "I saw her years ago before you came to us. She lives up to her name, Samuel. Rosalyn is one of the most famous animal enchantresses in the territories."

 

"Animal enchantress?" That too brings resplendent imaginings to Sam, strange and yet fascinating at once.

 

"It's rumored that Rosalyn bewitches her animals so that they perform as if by magic."

 

"Is that true?”

 

She laughs airily, the sound a sparkle in the darkening night.

 

"Of course not! She's just the best exotic animal trainer in the circuits and she's inclined to join our troupe! I haven't the faintest trace of an idea why, but if Ben can convince her, she should be here before the week is done."

 

Sam finishes his tea while he listens to Jackie recount all she remembers of the Amazing Rosalyn and her repertoire. The night breeze is cool and the distant sounds of the show lull Sam into a peaceful, easy daze.

 

It doesn't matter how much time he spends with Jackie, the ease still remains. For nearly three years he's trained with her, learning her act every which way. The repetition and the intricacies of his movements draw him into a meditative calm, releasing him from the strings of the earth that bind him otherwise. 

 

But Sam has yet to perform - unknown forces keeping him from the stage. Jackie hasn’t pushed; she's only gently questioned Sam's readiness from time to time, reminding her son of his intentions.

 

And tonight seems to be one of those occasions.

 

"Katie has come such a long way with her training," Jackie hints.

 

"I think she practices every spare moment."

 

Jackie laughs quietly. "Katie’s mother has driven her to dedication, though not for the kind of act she expected."

 

Sam smiles with the truth of that. When Sam had shared his plans with his best friend after the first few months of his training, she immediately shared his enthusiasm. But it had been a complete surprise when the petite blonde appeared a few weeks later at one of his sessions with Jackie. She had offered herself - and her natural grace - as a partner. And Katie was _good_ ; she set her mind to the task and impressed Sam and his mother with her willingness to work hard. When questioned, she shrugged away the comments and turned on her bright smile, and said only: “my mother isn't forcing me into this. That alone makes it worthwhile!"

 

It seems as if Jackie is certain Katie's training is nearing its end.

 

"What about doing a simple show here before we depart?"

 

Sam sighs, immune to Jackie’s goading by now. "Not yet."

 

Jackie probably anticipates his reluctance.

 

"I understand what this will mean, Samuel, more than you know." Her quiet tone does little to mask the maternal impatience. "You'll be able to captivate your audience from the first. Wonder, desire, and lust - you will see it all in their faces and it's a heavy thing to shoulder. But you can, Samuel. You're ready."

 

Sam is aware of his readiness but maintains his reserve. There is something on the horizon, he knows - something to wait for.

 

"I'll know."

 

"I know you will."

The sun has barely emerged from its sleep below the horizon when the caravan makes ready to depart. The air is abuzz with rumors of Rosalyn's impending arrival.

 

Even though Sam hadn't told anyone what Jackie revealed - not even Katie who is an accomplished interrogator when it comes to Sam's secrets - the entire caravan could sense Ben's anxious mood. Everyone from the galley cooks to the dancers knew that something was afoot in the camp, and Ben finally caved the night before and told Galen the good news. The old man, a notorious and unlikely gossip, quickly spread the news throughout the company.

 

Sam is distracted and of little use to Katie as she bustles, securing their trailer and making preparations. She has fallen easily into the role of driver and Sam has no qualms about his place in the passenger seat. It's comfortable and feels right - easy on his long legs - even if he's stuck with Katie's musical choices. Fortunately he rarely tires of the tinny notes of old brass band swing.

 

The level of noise increases steadily and Sam looks up to catch sight of three large trailers pulling towards their gathering. Like a mosquito in his ear, the buzzing keeps getting louder and Sam moves away from the mass of caravans. Ben and Jackie step from their home towards the new arrivals, greeting the half dozen dark-clothed workers who emerge.

 

Sam skirts around the field, edging closer just in time to see a beautiful woman come down from the largest vehicle. A light wind catches her midnight hued hair, blowing the sleek, straight locks away from her face. Olive skin and pointed features complement her long, slender body and Sam recalls childhood stories of wrathful goddesses and exotic jungle queens. For all Sam knows, the Amazing Rosalyn could be either of those - or something else entirely.

 

From his vantage point, Sam can't make out the welcomes and introductions. It's not long before Ben waves the collected crowds back to their vehicles, leaving him alone to speak quietly with Rosalyn. Sam’s curiosity urges him to step forward, but there’s no time now. He needs to hurry back before Katie leaves without him. Learning more about Rosalyn will have to wait. 

 

The whirlwind of wonder and feelings of anticipation settle low in his stomach, not to be banished until San Mira is a distant memory.

'Shine halls are not known for their peaceful atmosphere or quiet entertainment. Certainly this one has neither and Sam can feel a headache forming behind his temples.

 

It's their first night outside of Oxford Main, three weeks out of San Mira and three weeks since Rosalyn and her entourage joined their numbers. Weary of long days driving and a stressful run at Port of Milos, Katie had dragged Sam out of their trailer as soon as they arrived tonight. And they weren't alone. Caravan fever had struck hard and Sam recognizes several members of the company lounging and laughing with one another while loud, jovial music encourages the hall's patrons to forget their troubles.

 

Sam is desperately hoping for an easy time here. The days since San Mira have been hard on everyone. There'd been no time to interact with Rosalyn beyond cursory introductions - the enchantress was deep in preparing her acts and sheltered herself from the rest of the troupe. The conditions in Port of Milos hadn't helped. Rain, winds, and faulty equipment combined to keep Sam occupied with Rique for over a week. But with the earth of a new city beneath his feet, Sam's determined to relax and finally get to know the newest additions to their company beyond glimpses and rumors.

 

Katie is deep into her cups already and Sam is sticking close. Her unfettered smile draws attention - some flattering and some potentially dangerous. He forgoes a tempting glass of 'shine, sipping instead at a pint of bitter-hopped ale. He's not eager to disappear into the fuzzy, uninhibited fog the 'shine can bring on.

 

The wooden doors slide open, letting a draft of cool air into the hall. Two men enter with the fresh, night breeze. Both are strangers to Sam and they look comfortable in the rowdy environment. One of the men is stretched skyward, taller than any man Sam has encountered. His coarse, dark hair falls onto his shoulders and frames a long, pale, sharp-boned face. He trails his companion, and Sam gasps when the crowds part to allow him a glimpse of the second man.

 

He's beautiful in a way Sam's never seen. The hall's other occupants fade around him as he moves closer to Sam's table. Vibrant green eyes take in every detail of the hall as if they've never been laid upon anything as fascinating as the faded posters and walls of mixed wood. The man's hair is strangely styled, sun touched and short but soft in Sam's imaginary grasp. Those mesmerizing eyes pause on Sam and he feels momentarily lost; he's no stranger to beauty in all of its varied forms, but this man's aura is a stunning force against Sam's heart.

 

Their gazes don't lock for long, yet Sam can feel eternity unfolded before him in that moment. The connection breaks when the taller stranger pushes between them. Green eyes move on but Sam's focus does not return to the boisterous patrons. Sam is struck with sudden fear that the connection was one-sided; the stranger doesn’t look back at him.

 

And then, like a whisper in his ear, Sam is drawn back to Jackie's words from weeks ago. From _years_ ago.

 

_You'll be a beautiful man and many will come to watch you. You'll be able to captivate your audience from the first. Wonder, desire, lust..._

 

Here and now, in this noisy hall, Sam's largely ignored. Eyes pass over him and even the barkeep pays no heed to Sam’s empty glass. Yet Katie dazzles and the stranger smiles easily, enchanting Sam with no more than a single look. Last year, last week, _yesterday_ \- Sam preferred his anonymity. It was a blanket to hide beneath but it's the last thing he wants now.

 

Sam craves the attention for a change, envies the effortless way his best friend can bewitch a crowd. He wants _those_ eyes on him - forever. And suddenly, what he needs to do becomes clear.

"Katie!"

 

There's an unintelligible sound from beneath the mound of quilts.

 

"Wake up, string bean."

 

"G'way, Sam." Katie's grumbling is slightly easier to make out as Sam pulls layers of fabric away. He's already opened every shade and shutter, orange light let loose into their trailer, and he rips off the last sheet. "Ugh, Sam! What the hell?"

 

"Get up, we need to practice."

 

Sam's dressed and caffeinated, his morning tea and breakfast devoured in a rush.

 

"No, I need to sleep." Katie's eyes stay shut against the sun's assault. "We practice all the time - I can have a day off, you pest."

 

"Not today, Katie." He smiles brightly to himself, a vision of intense green eyes fueling him. Sam throws the quilts off the bed and laughs when his best friend groans. "Up!"

On that sunlit morning in Oxford Main, Sam unknowingly changes the course of his life. All the young man knew at that moment were novel feelings of intoxication and a strange sense of peace. Sam finally felt ready to perform - much to Jackie's approval and Katie's exasperation.

 

Only a week after his decision - each night willingly spent in the 'shine hall but yielding no further glimpse of his stranger - Sam and Katie took the company's stage for the first time.

 

They both were distressed, frazzled and nervous, but managed to please their small matinee crowd. Sam walked from the stage shaking, every muscle alive and sore, but still ecstatic and _relieved_. The performance was everything Jackie had prophesied and more; Sam used all aspects of his training, losing himself in a trance while all eyes were on him but he could feel the power of the audience's gaze. He collapsed into Jackie's arms afterwards, barely aware enough to hear the applause.

 

He and Katie had performed two shows since, a far cry from a featured act but enough to work out their nerves and kinks. Tonight, with a third performance to his name, Sam returns to his sole distraction.

 

His fascination with their newest member has not been discreet. Sam’s constant attempts to learn about the enchantress were brought to Jackie's attention and she teased him good-naturedly. But his observations continued, though he hadn’t gained much new insight to the mysterious woman. Sam had noticed a few unfamiliar men in Rosalyn's company every so often, most likely admiring fans eager to spend time with the trainer, but such behavior wasn’t exactly a novelty amongst the artistes. 

 

Tonight, the troupe’s finished another show and the majority of players and workers are mingling with the Oxford crowds on the company’s small midway. It’s a perfect chance for Sam to sneak away. He ducks out quickly and leaves Katie to accept compliments and praises on his behalf. Edging away from the lights and noise, he makes his way to the other end of the camp where Rosalyn’s vehicles stand in a circle.

 

Sam doesn’t move much closer. The area is quiet but that doesn’t mean all of the workers have left the caravan. The last thing he wants is to be caught slinking around by -

 

"Samuel."

 

From behind him, the softly amused voice stops Sam’s thoughts. His name sounds foreign when whispered in such a mellifluous accent. Knowing exactly who has found him, he turns and smiles innocently.

 

"Rosalyn! I'm sorry - I just wanted a chance to -"

 

"I know, Samuel." The enchantress's dark eyes, like deep pools of obsidian, barely catch what light shines in the field.

 

"Sam.” He corrects without thinking.

 

"My apologies, Sam." Her smile matches his. "Your mother has spoken very highly of you, and from what I’ve seen, you are quite the talented young man. I’m sorry we haven’t been able to properly talk before now."

 

Her compliments make Sam's cheeks flush red; he still hasn't gotten used to that kind of praise.

 

"I’ve been watching you since I arrived," she says casually. "You're a strange type of man to be found in a troupe like this."

 

Sam nods but doesn't know how to respond to such a thing. Rosalyn waits for his reaction, small grin tilting the corner of her lips. To Sam, it feels like they’ve had this conversation before and he’s merely forgotten.

 

When he continues to stand there silently, the no-less-mysterious woman shakes her head and laughs breathily.

 

"Would you like to see some of my animals, Sam?" As if she hadn't said anything out of the ordinary just a moment ago. "Up close?"

 

He wants nothing more than a distraction from the already strange encounter so Sam nods and follows Rosalyn, matching her pace as they approach the spacious pens and cages built into her trailers. What he sees is instantly captivating.

 

Rosalyn's menagerie is a far cry from Roger's collection of trained cats and ferrets, and even from Taylor's steeds. In the cage before Sam, a magnificent black feline crouches - a panther - which Rosalyn claims can dazzle audiences with its intelligence and wily nature. Exotic birds with rainbow plumage flap and caw noisily in their smaller enclosures. Sam watches as their iridescent feathers catch every facet of the lights. Alongside the second vehicle, a magnificent black stallion stands at least sixteen hands skyward. The creature’s large, dark eyes follow Sam and Rosalyn's movements but the enormous horse remains motionless. A smaller, light brown filly stands between the stallion and the trailer, protected and at ease.

 

And finally Sam's eyes land on the tiger. The animal appears strong and intimidating as it paces around the far end of its cage. The big cat's vividly contrasting stripes make Sam dizzy but he is enthralled nonetheless.

 

"They are my family," she declares softly, Sam appreciating the endearing way she speaks of her wild birds and beasts. "Each is so precious, so full of personality and talent. They're such wonderful creatures aren't they, Sam?" The way Rosalyn ends the question, high and too casual, tells him that she's more interested in his answer than mere agreement.

 

"It doesn’t make you sad that they're kept in cages their entire lives?"

 

A strange look flicks across Rosalyn's face - Sam would almost categorize it as _impressed_ \- and she shakes her head. "They're hardly mere animals, Sam. Each is an individual, an essential part of my menagerie. Who is to say that, left in the wild, they would be so revered, so admired? They may never have evolved into the creatures they've become. There, they would be simple animals - unappreciated and alone."

 

Sam understands but his sadness lingers. The sight of the tiger's face behind thin bars moves Sam with strange emotions. Rosalyn steps up to the enclosure, her fine-boned hand brushing the cold metal. The panther mirrors, stalking close and sniffing the extended palm. She looks to the tiger then, but the larger feline just yawns widely, jaw flexing and displaying a mouthful of sharp, menacing teeth.

 

"At times they're nothing more than large, beloved pets." She grins affectionately and nods towards the tiger, now rolling goofily in fresh hay with its striped white belly showing. "And when they're performing, they're entities of magic, sources of wonder." Rosalyn's quiet for a moment, her next words pointed and heavy. "Two existences, Sam. Perhaps you know what that could be like."

 

Again, Sam's overcome with the feeling that Rosalyn knows his mind before he does and he shakes the feeling away to avoid over-examination. The final bell of the evening sounds, alerting Sam that the gates are about to close and he's managed to shirk all of his responsibilities. Rosalyn waves him off, but not before eliciting his sincere promise to watch her next performance.

 

Returning to Katie, muttering apologies and picking up his share of work, Sam pushes his uneasy encounter with the animal trainer to the back of his mind, focusing instead on the magnificent creatures he was able to meet: the shrewd panther, the intimidating presence of the mighty stallion, and the amusing way the tiger attempted to frolic in his pen.

The uneasiness lingers through Sam’s performance the following night. As he sits on the cool, metal steps of his trailer, waiting for the jitters to cease, Jackie appears and sits beside him.

 

Neither says anything at first; practice and a grueling schedule have left them little time to talk. In the last few weeks, they’ve been teacher and student more than mother and son. Sam misses their easy companionship.

 

“Did you watch?” Sam finally asks to break the silence.

 

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.” There’s a motherly smile on her face – warm and proud. “I can see the improvement every time you take the stage.” She angles her head and considers her son. “But that’s not really what you were asking, was it?”

 

Sam shakes his head and wonders where to begin. He has experienced just about every one of Jackie’s predictions – the nerves, the exhilaration, and the feelings of accomplishment – and this evening he’d been confronted by another.

 

“Tonight…” Sam tries, his voice hushed and tinged with embarrassment. “After Katie and I finished, there were men around, and they – I don’t…”

 

Thankfully Jackie saves him from further stammering. “They were trying to catch your eye?”

 

“More than that,” he grumbles.

 

She stifles a laugh at his ornery tone. “I told you to expect that, didn’t I?”

 

“I never thought it would be so…”

 

“Embarrassing? Awkward?”

 

“So horrible,” he finishes, and watches his mother’s expression turn serious. “It felt – I can’t really tell you what it felt like, other than it was repulsive.”

 

He looks pleadingly at Jackie but she doesn’t reassure him immediately. She appears thoughtful, trying to find the right words.

 

And then, “Sam, when I told you this would happen, it wasn’t to make you afraid of it.”

 

“I’m not afraid,” he argues, but he silently concedes that Jackie is usually right when it comes to reading the things Sam isn’t saying.

 

“I won’t tell you that it’s going to get better,” she goes on, mostly ignoring Sam’s sour face. “You can’t help the way you look when you’re on stage, the way you entice people. And most of the admirers you gain won’t suit you. But don’t tune them out completely.” She smiles and her eyes are nostalgic and bright. “Someday, there may be someone who catches your eye in return, Samuel. Remember, your father caught mine.”

 

Sam can feel his face warming, knowing he’s already had such an experience. He covers his blush with a smile and tries to forget about badly worded offers and lewd proposals. And he doesn’t protest when Jackie grabs his hand and pulls him up off of the steps, intent on dragging her tall son towards the sounds of celebration.

On their final night in Oxford Main, Sam gets the chance to fulfill his promise to Rosalyn. Katie doesn't seem to mind going another night without performing, more eager to join in all the festivities instead.

 

For the first time in over a year, Sam stands amidst their audience. He plays spectator for the night, caught up in the wonder flowing from those around him.

 

Elena and her twin sons open the night, showcasing their years of juggling training and their remarkable dexterity with various objects. The Ronaldo family begins with simple routines and continues to astound the crowds with increasingly intricate patterns and rhythms. Batons and balls are passed amongst the trio before their grand finale involving flaming wands draws the first impressive applause of the night.

 

Following the Ronaldos, Galen struts out before the primed crowd, his impeccably pressed suit belying his charm and knack for comedy. Sam catches a glimpse of Dustin standing a few feet away, his finely wrinkled face caught in a brilliant smile as his husband takes the stage, and he doesn't miss the warm look Galen sends back. 

 

Their conjurer effortlessly combines humor and wit with his own brand of craft and illusion, drawing gasps from children and appreciative rounds of applause from adults. He calls upon members of the audience to assist and be made fun of, smiling when young men and women jump up and down, waving their hands and hoping to be chosen.

 

An exhibition of dancers takes the stage next - the largest act of the night. Hoofers, tappers, and gaily dressed ballerinas share the stage, their pieces ranging from soft and mellow to quick and bubbly. When there's a beat, Sam starts clapping in time with the music, encouraging their audience to participate and cheer the artistes on.

 

Smaller acts fill the spaces before the featured players take the stage - the Amazing Rosalyn and her Menagerie. The lights dim momentarily, casting the crowd into deep shadow while excited whispers travel between friends and neighbors. Sam can pick up the sounds of spotlights being moved, riggings shifted for the next act, but those go ignored by the crowds.

 

Finally, a single spotlight illuminates the stage and Rosalyn appears from behind a heavy black curtain. She's truly a ravishing beauty, intricately costumed, and her presence is aggressive yet engrossing. Rosalyn doesn't require sequined bodices or feathered hats to enchant her patrons. A tight corset wraps her waist with a short black jacket covering her shoulders. Pointed black boots adorn her feet with shimmering gold pants stretching down to mid-thigh. There are no whips or ropes held in her hands or twined around her body. She's dark, crafting and demonic - a witch come to toy with and perform for them.

 

The curtain's drawn back further to reveal her sleek panther balanced on a stool, waiting for its first command, and the stallion standing perfectly still. Rosalyn leads them through a simple act, the large cat twining around the horse, and jumping clear upon its back before sitting on its haunches and lifting a paw towards the audience. Sam smiles as the children around him lift their hands and wave back. He's never known animals were capable of such things.

 

He's confused at the lack of ropes or leads restricting the animals' movements; they seem content with their roles upon the stage, as if the thought to flee or disobey never enters their minds.

 

The multichromatic birds are introduced in a wave of bright feathers; Rosalyn has them fly in patterns and hop amongst her other animals, adding color to the stage. 

 

When the tiger prowls out, those spectators nearest the stage draw back involuntarily. Sam admits the feline's size is intimidating, its stalk a touch fearsome. But the tense mood is broken when the striped cat spies a length of gold string in Rosalyn's hand, immediately pouncing on the rogue distraction. The stage shakes with the force of his jump but the audience laughs at the tiger's antics. 

 

The high spirits continue as Rosalyn puts the tiger and panther through their paces. The black cat is as clever as rumored but it is the tiger drawing the greatest response. There's unexpected comedy in the act and the audience loves it. The tiger swats at the panther's tail and rears up to nuzzle playfully at the stallion's long face. The animal goes so far as to nudge Rosalyn from behind, pushing her across the stage while she leads the birds in a strange mimicry of human speech. The enchantress is bemused, not exasperated, as if she expects and welcomes such behavior.

 

By the time the curtain closes, the crowd comes to their feet in an enthusiastic show of approval. Rosalyn retakes the stage with the other performers for a final bow before they all disappear: to change, to mingle with fans, or to help disassemble the stage.

 

Sam stands still as the crowd thins, sparing a moment to process all he's seen. Rosalyn's a true enchantress, he’ll admit that now. Her talents were previously unimaginable, yet with such proof of what can only be called _magic_ , Sam can't help but wonder what other inexplicable forces exist in his world.

 

That night, Sam dreams of the animals, of Rosalyn's menagerie and more. He stands amidst the beasts and birds, magnificent at their center and costumed as one of the old ringmasters Ben used to tell him stories about. 

 

His animals parade around him in an unbroken circle. The large felines growl and roar while the hoofed steeds tread carefully around the smaller creatures. Even Sam's childhood squirrels scamper and dart between paws, all under his appraising eye. 

 

Reveling in the control he has, he smiles and watches until he sees that the animals are _tired_. A large, spotted cat stumbles before it continues pacing, unable to stop and get out of the ever-moving circle. The horses support each other, smaller leaning on larger as their canter slows and stutters.

 

Sam tries to yell, to call everything to a halt, but he has no voice. Every cry of protest sticks in his throat even as the animals look to him sadly. They can see him trying but they know it's of little use.

 

And then he wakes up.

The Montgomery Troupe moves on and begins a short tour around the settlements of Norlasco. It's a welcome break for Sam, a reprieve from the stifling cities, and gives the company a few weeks in the North before heading eastward.

 

It's a clear night in Fairlawn, the largest village in Norlasco, where Sam and Katie fix boldly colored posters to street poles and outside corner bodegas. The town is alight, citizens celebrating the company's arrival. Crowds are gathered in the 'shine and billiard halls though Sam feels little inclination to socialize. He wants to finish this and collapse on his mattress, leave the day's set-up and hard labor behind. His body could use a decent rest if he's going to keep up with the upcoming performances.

 

A door opens to his left and spills a throng of men into the street, one of whom bumps into Sam knocks the posters from his bag.

 

"Oh crap. I'm sorry, man."

 

The voice is deep and smooth, washing over Sam before he looks up into those eyes for the second time. 

 

"Can I - um, let me help?" The stranger bends low and quickly gathers the scattered advertisements while Sam stands there dumb. The posters are rolled up and offered over before Sam snaps from his daze.

 

"Thank you." His reply comes out meeker than he intends. Sam is struck all over again by this man's presence; his mind hadn't exaggerated the details of his stranger's visage. But what was he doing _here_? Fairlawn's a sizable journey from the Western cities - could he be _following_ the show? Even as that possibility occurs to Sam, he's not distressed by it. 

 

"Grand spectacles and ingenious artistes, huh?"

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"Your posters?" Amused green eyes indicate the poster on the wall. "Are you part of that show?"

 

"Yes," he stutters, his shy disposition taking over. "I'm one of the artistes."

 

"Artiste, huh?" The man plays with the word on his tongue, sounding foreign and yet familiar at once. "Sounds awesome." He laughs and Sam imagines he could hold court with any troupe on the power of his beauty and ease of humor. "I'm Dean, by the way."

 

A name for his inspiration, finally.

 

"Samuel."

 

His hand's taken in a firm grip, a moment of mutual perusal between them and Sam prays he's not blushing. Dean's gaze warms him deep within his heart - arousing and comfortable. Sam curses his awkwardness, trying to draw upon the confidence and poise he channels on stage. He's never felt such a need to impress someone else.

 

"Nice to meet you, Sam."

 

"Are you - would you come to our show?" Sam lays the question carefully, hope in his throat. "We're in town for most of the week."

 

There's no way to decipher the look on Dean's face but Sam prays he's seeing acquiescence. For Dean to see him - to see what Sam has accomplished _because_ of him - would mean so much, though Dean would remain oblivious. Waiting for Dean's answer, Sam keeps his lips tightly pressed together lest he start confessing every strange thought he's had about the other man and truly scares him away.

 

"Sounds promising," Dean finally says, hands in the pockets of his black denims. "I might be able to swing it, Sam. What is it that you _do_ in these shows?"

 

Sam swallows audibly, trying to ignore the way Dean's clever grin is affecting him.

 

"Sam!" Katie dashes up to the pair before he can answer or think of a coy way to respond to Dean’s light, flirtatious tone. "Come on, aren't you done yet?"

 

His best friend stands there confused, looking between the two men when Sam barely acknowledges her. Dean reaches up to scratch the back of his head, waiting for the introduction Sam can't manage. Katie huffs, and Sam's grateful when her overwhelming personality intervenes.

 

"Hi, I'm Katie. I'm Sam's partner."

 

Dean glances between Sam and Katie. "Partner?"

 

"Our _act_ ," she replies as if it all should be clear to Dean. She catches sight of the posters in Sam's hand. "Seriously Sam, did you get tired or something?"

 

Sam gapes at her, wishing she was anywhere else. 

 

Dean laughs but quickly masks it as a cough behind his hand. "I should let you get back to that," Dean waves at the posters even as he’s turning away. "I'm heading out anyway. It was nice to meet you, Sam. Katie."

 

Sam doesn't get a chance to respond - Dean's already gone. Flustered and desperate to force Katie's eyes away from his reddening cheeks, he takes the roll of paper and thwaps her on the back of her head.

 

"Ow, Sam!"

 

"It didn't hurt. Grow up, string-bean."

 

"Says the _child_ who whapped me."

 

Their petty argument is enough to distract them and they bicker like the friends they've always been the entire way back to camp.

The fresh breezes which welcomed them to Fairlawn have all but disappeared, taking with them Sam's giddy mood since meeting Dean a few days ago. The night is heavy with moisture, winds shifting to bring oppressive Southern air and humidity into the North. Their crowd tonight is restless and it's affecting the artistes; nerves are running especially high as the performers sweat beneath the hot air and the glassy stares of their audience.

 

Sam and Katie take the stage after Galen's selection of illusions draws decent applause, though nowhere near the amount his performance deserves. The pair decided earlier to exhibit their most comedic routine tonight - a poor decision, Sam now admits. Their costumes are more elaborate, not sleek suits but weightier fabrics, and the makeup feels caked on Sam's skin. From the corner of his eye he can see Katie twitching, clearly feeling the effects of the heat.

 

He tries desperately to focus on their routine, but the stifling air gives no reprieve while he moves, twisting body and face in time with the mood of the music. There’s less technical ballet, for which he’s grateful; it’s more about making the crowd laugh as they watch the ways Sam and Katie have trained their muscles to move and support each other. He's surprised, and not a little bit thankful when they manage to draw steady chuckles and some applause.

 

Midway through their act, Sam’s attention is drawn by movement at the far edge of the crowd. A new position allows him a clearer glance, and he recognizes Rosalyn’s polished beauty at the far limit of his sight. But it’s the figure beside her that distracts Sam, forcing him off balance and he nearly loses his precarious hold on Katie.

 

The man arguing with Rosalyn – sharp gestures and a stern countenance obvious even at such distance – is _Dean_.

 

A gentle pinch to his bicep tells Sam that Katie’s picked up on his distraction and does _not_ appreciate it. He tries to refocus his energy but it’s futile.

 

Dean’s _here_. And Dean isn’t watching him.

 

Sam's heart drops to his gut and he fights with everything in him not to give in to the dizziness trying to take over his body.

 

With his back to the crowd, Sam takes a deep, steadying breath but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t matter that he’s spent a week waiting for Dean to grace the show’s grounds. There was always the _hope_ he would, that he felt the same draw Sam had. His stomach turns sickeningly - for a moment he fears becoming ill on stage – as memories of those unknown men coming and going from Rosalyn’s vehicles parade through his mind. The thought that Dean could be among those faceless numbers….

 

Turning forward again, his gaze inevitably settles back on the contesting pair at the back of the audience. Rosalyn has stepped closer to Dean and there's obvious intimacy in the movement. Sam knows he’s shaking visably.

 

Another pinch - _much_ harder this time, stings on his thigh. For Katie’s sake and safety, Sam banishes all thoughts beyond _move, turn, lift, strain_. When they finish, there is no sign of Dean. Sam can't identify the feeling that settles over him, but a small part of his mind insists on _betrayal_.

 

Just as he leaves the stage with Katie he catches sight of Rosalyn in the crowd. Her dark gaze meets Sam’s directly. It’s difficult to hold her eyes while he steps down but he makes the effort, pushing his disappointment and confusion through the air between them. She doesn’t move to intercept him, merely watches, and when her eyes narrow Sam thinks his message is clear.

 

_I know._

 

After the final curtain call, Jackie seeks Sam out. His mother finds him removing the last traces of iridescent powder from his flushed skin.

 

“What happened, Samuel?”

 

“Gossip spreads quickly,” he answers petulantly.

 

“You were shaken tonight-“

 

“And I don’t want to tell you why.”

 

She draws back visibly from his snapped reply. Normally he would crave Jackie’s comfort and willing ear but he doesn’t want a mother’s support now. Sam’s desperate for explanations she can’t give.

 

But Jackie sits patiently while Sam finishes his ablutions – his hair brushed clean of any shimmer and cooling cream smoothed over clean, sensitive skin - but he doesn’t give in to her silent curiosity. Eventually she concedes and stands.

 

“Will you be attending the festivities tonight?” She asks, already knowing the answer and Sam confirms with a shake of his head. “Your father and I will see you in the morning then, Samuel." She drops a hand to Sam's shoulder, sincere concern in her eyes when she meets Sam's gaze through the mirror. "I hope you find some peace tonight.”

 

Peace does not come as the moon tracks across the sky, the large orb a yellowish grey in the haze. Walking brings no sense of comfort; he’s still able to hear the happy notes of celebration from the midway, and the image of Dean standing so close to Rosalyn will not fade. For a moment, he’s tempted to join Katie and the others back on the grounds, to try and stunt his memory with sweet ‘shine and mugs of ale.

 

Some time later, Sam emerges from the wooded outskirts of their camp and finds himself among Rosalyn’s trailers. It’s quiet; the enchantress’s workers have joined the rest of the troupe. Moving quietly alongside the large vehicles, Sam walks to the spacious feline pen and comes face to face with the dark and imposing panther.

 

He jumps back instinctively as the cat emerges into the dim moonlight filling the pen. Sam knows he’s being studied; the astute gaze of the panther takes in his presence. When the large cat yawns, Sam thinks he’s been accepted. For the moment, at least.

 

“You don't want to hear my troubles, I'd imagine,” he begins softly, some inner compulsion drawing out his words. “They’re not many but they seem to be mine alone to bear.”

 

The panther’s reflective eyes stare without reaction and Sam feels silly. He sighs, head dropped low against the bars not thinking to fear the feline’s proximity, and he remains there trying to collect his scattered thoughts. No matter his desperation, he will not break down even with only performing animals as witnesses.

 

A moment later, calmed enough to move, he lifts his head and meets wide green eyes instead of amber. The tiger is closer than the panther was, having approached silently, and Sam feels a sudden companionship with the animal. Intelligent eyes follow his movement as Sam settles on his knees. The tiger moves along with him and crouches down at the edge of its cage.

 

“What about you?” Sam lays a hand gently between the bars, feeling the tickling prick of whiskers against his skin when the tiger sniffs gingerly. “I don’t suppose you'd care to listen?”

 

He doesn’t expect an answer, of course, and he can find none in the way the feline yawns and butts against his hand. Sam supposes all cats must be wired similarly. He's reminded of certain feline weak spots from his time spent with Roger. More than a little afraid of losing a limb, he reaches carefully behind the tiger’s ear and scratches softly until he can make out a rumbling coming from deep in the tiger’s belly.

 

Emboldened by the absence of fangs and charmed by the big cat’s response, Sam starts talking quietly. The story of Dean rolls off his tongue - from inauspicious beginnings to the inexplicable disappointment and regret he feels now. As he speaks, more and more starts spilling forth but his audience of one never complains. The tiger rolls and stretches, whiskers bunching in pleasure when Sam resumes his scratching attentions.

 

"I don't understand," Sam explains, relaxing as he rubs the soft, white fur beneath the tiger's chin. "I'm not much and my act is such a small piece of me, yet it affects me so. Others, too."

 

The feline tilts its head and Sam smiles at the human gesture.

 

"Did you know that men come to me after my performances?"

 

It's a quiet whisper in the night, kept secret between Sam and his new friend. He's never really talked about this with anyone besides Jackie. It feels awkward and shameful to speak of the crude men who follow his movements on and off the stage, forcing him away from celebrations. The tiger will have his confidence if only because no one else needs to know his self-reproach.

 

"I flee like a coward when I'm approached that way. I'm not the same man off stage as on." Sam sighs at his own shortcomings. "I don't - it's not something I would do, but it won't stop. Jackie warned me of this when I began training."

 

As if the animal understands, Sam's feline companion arches into his touch, and he feels an overwhelming amount of comfort.

 

"When I met Dean, I wanted nothing more than for him to _see_ me, to know everything I am - not just the silent performer upon the stage or the shy man he met in Fairlawn. I would have been willing - I _wanted_..." he sighs. "No one else has ever looked at me twice when I’m not hiding behind the guise of an artiste - no one made me want to be seen. I don't even know why I want it now, but with Dean..."

 

"It's because you're lonely, Sam."

 

He and the tiger are both startled by the voice. Rosalyn appears out of the darkness.

 

"I'm not lonely," he counters, bristling at the sight of their enchantress - the very person responsible for his tormented thoughts. Her dark features blend with the pitch of night and she's lost the mystique that intimidated Sam before.

 

"We spend our days and nights amongst other people. It's impossible to be lonely."

 

"And yet you're here," Rosalyn answers simply, stepping forward, "talking to animals instead of celebrating another successful evening."

 

He wants to storm away - wishes he could - but the tiger looks at him with a gaze so soft that it bolsters him.

 

"I dislike the commotion."

 

"It makes you uncomfortable - the press of strangers, the unwanted advances. The sight of everyone you know and love enjoying themselves while you remain the mysterious wallflower."

 

Rosalyn's extracting thoughts from him as easily as pulling them from a hat.

 

"Don't do that," he grates out but she ignores him.

 

"There's a hole in your heart, Sam, and you know it." 

 

Rosalyn's close now, directly beneath his chin much in the same way she'd stood with Dean. He can see his shocked expression reflected in her licorice-black eyes. They are a strange triangle - the artiste, the enchantress, and the tiger that has not wandered from Sam's side.

 

"There is no such thing," Sam tries for quiet confidence but Rosalyn's expression is disbelieving. "I have Katie, my parents and my friends."

 

"Do they bring you the comfort you seek? If they provided everything you need, you wouldn't be here."

 

"You know _nothing_ about me," he growls, and the sound is surprisingly echoed by the caged animal next to him.

 

"You're plagued by the feeling that you're incomplete." Rosalyn's tone and conviction are unwavering. "Something is missing and you've felt that way all of your life."

 

"Stop."

 

"Tell me what you want, Sam."

 

Surely he's conjuring visions, the dark night playing tricks with his mind, but Rosalyn's eyes swirl even _blacker_ in front of him.

 

"Stop."

 

"I can help you. I know what is in your heart, Sam."

 

"Stop, _please_."

 

"Tell me!"

 

Sam is reduced to begging, Rosalyn's words cutting deeply, but before another plea falls from his lips, Rosalyn jumps back with a gasp. The tiger is pressed against the bars, snarling dangerously with its sights set on the enchantress. Despite the metal keeping the cat at bay, it's frightening to see the normally docile and playful animal clawing and hissing at Rosalyn.

 

Sam only has a moment to see the shock on the woman's face before she backs away from the pen.

 

" _Enough_!" She whispers harshly to the feline, but the tiger does not obey immediately. Its mouth curls sinisterly, displaying sharp fangs, but finally the animal stalks away from the bars though its eyes never leave the woman.

 

With no idea what has just happened and his entire body _screaming_ to get as far from Rosalyn as he can, Sam spins and runs back into the cover of the forest. It may be his imagination, but he hears the shout of his name mixed with a growl as he runs.

 

Sam doesn't find his way to sleep that night. The racing of his thoughts matches the rhythm of his heart - fast and out of control - while he lays in the deep quiet of early morning. He hears Rosalyn's words, her accusations, over and over in his head.

 

He feels an emptiness open up inside him - once merely a crack barely anything could fall through - courtesy of Rosalyn's cutting words. Some rational part of Sam's mind tries to tell him that Rosalyn isn't entirely to blame. The enchantress had to see _something_ dark in his heart that's long gone unacknowledged, but he can't think of much else. Everything Sam never wanted to consider, perceived faults in his personality, is suddenly brought to the forefront.

 

Flipping over on his mattress, Sam finally gives up on sleep. He gets dressed quietly so he doesn't disturb Katie's quiet snoring and walks out into the cool pre-dawn. The sun will be rising soon and with it comes the distraction of work.

Katie sickens of Sam's dour moods rapidly once they depart from Fairlawn.

 

"Katie, you need to understand-"

 

"I can't understand, Sam!" Her now-mahogany hair swishes angrily over her shoulders. "Ever since we got to Fairlawn, your head's been in the clouds, not here with me."

 

"I'm sorry." Sam is, but that's not what his best friend wants to hear.

 

"Fiddles to that, Sam!" Katie throws their bags into storage compartments beneath their vehicle. Sam offers to help but he's more afraid that Katie will bite off his hand. It's a greater possibility with her than with the tiger. "You don't need to be sorry; we all have our intrigues and dilemmas. I'd rather you tell me what's gotten you so humdrum than have you tell me you're sorry one more time."

 

Her pause lingers, as if she expects Sam to confess then and there. But Katie's disappointed once more as Sam turns away to help others pack their belongings.

 

It's nearly a two day drive to Dunham for the slow moving caravan and Sam's smile dims more with each sunrise. Unwilling to tempt Katie's wrath from the passenger seat, Sam forgoes his own vehicle and hitches a ride in Rosalyn's trailer when he can. With a cushion and one of Dustin's tattered novels, he scrunches down next to the feline pen, between the bars and clear glass panels - just enough room to stretch his long legs.

 

Sam doesn't exactly sneak around - Rosalyn knows that he's hitched a ride but she keeps her distance. She tries to approach him when the caravans stopped to refuel, but an uncharacteristic scowl from Sam and the formidable presence of the tiger beside him turns her away.

 

Now that the gates to Sam's innermost thoughts have been opened, he spends the long days of travel in a one sided conversation with Rosalyn's - _his_ \- tiger. There's been no sign of Dean since the last performance, a fact that tears Sam's conscience in two. He did not want to see the man, who unknowingly meant so much to him, with the enchantress, but there was no denying the strong desire to be in Dean's presence again.

 

Sam quietly relates all of this to the tiger. The big cat doesn't seem to mind listening to sad whispers and confusing thoughts as he's pawing and swatting gently at ribbons Sam brings and receiving countless head rubs. The panther had sniffed Sam initially but hasn't bothered since; the other animal just lies in the far corner and sleeps, head coming up every so often as if to check that Sam's still there.

 

He mentions Jackie's strange behavior; he hadn't told his mother about Dean specifically, but attributed his recent distraction to a man he knew to be following the show. Sam's mother went silent at that, an odd mixture of shock and worry marring her elegant face. The reaction went unexplained but Sam knows his mother was upset.

 

And Sam goes quiet at times, absentmindedly scratching the soft fur of the tiger's ears as he's lulled by the rhythm of the tires on hard road and his companion's deep breaths.

 

In such a fashion the distance between Fairlawn and Dunham passes; the trailers cross suspended hands of cable and steel over chasms and gorges cut deep into the mid-continental mountains. As they make their way across the earth's angry scars, Sam can breathe in the chill air that heralds the company's arrival in the Eastern provinces.

The reflection in Sam's mirror is foreign. His dark hair is smoothed away from his face, leaving his skin unshadowed. Tight eyes betray how uncomfortable he feels; the smile he attempts is forced and unnatural.

 

He doesn't need to think about his act tonight. Katie has already dressed and gone to mingle with the Dunham crowd, her elegant costume meant to tease and tantalize prior to them taking the stage. But Sam remains stuck in their trailer-cum-dressing room, a prisoner to his unrecognizable reflection. He brushes on his makeup, long adept at its application, and the visage becomes even more unfamiliar. Sam - shy and awkward - stares at the enigmatic artiste - confident and alluring. 

 

There's no time to bury himself in circular contemplations, and the thought of clearing his mind to enter his artistic trance is appealing. He’s robbed of that option when Rosalyn appears.

 

Materializing in her usual mysterious manner, she stands calmly in the now-open doorway.

 

“Sam -“

 

“Whatever you’re here to say, I doubt I need to hear it.” He’s quiet yet firm; Rosalyn’s probably well aware of Sam’s opinion on her.

 

“I never meant to be cruel, Sam,” she continues unperturbed.

 

He straightens in his chair, not bothering to stand or turn. “I fail to see how highlighting a man’s flaws so crudely could be anything but cruel, enchantress.”

 

The derision does not go unnoticed yet Rosalyn doesn't flinch when the verbal blow falls.

 

“Every thing I said to you was nothing but the truth. You are the only one who perceives my words as flaws. There are two sides to you, Sam, and neither is comfortable with the other. If you are to be happy in this life, or any other, you must embrace _all_ of yourself or risk being torn asunder.”

 

"I _was_ happy."

 

"Were you?"

 

Sam stares blankly at her reflection in the mirror, hoping she’ll disappear. There is no such luck as she ignores his silence.

 

“Loneliness is not a fault, Sam.”

 

_But now you've made it feel like one_ , he thinks.

 

“Look in the mirror and tell me who you are – _what_ you are.”

 

“I’m a man quickly losing his patience for addle-minded therapy,” he grates quietly with an unmistakable edge.

 

“I’ve done nothing to hurt you, Sam.”

 

“If you don’t think so, then there’s no reason for you to stay here trying to convince me otherwise, is there?”

 

He tries summoning the nerve to confront her about Dean and the other men she’s paraded under the company's noses in the past, but comes up short. She hears the dismissal in his tone and glides back to the door.

 

“You cannot admit your nature to me, but perhaps you will admit it to yourself first. Ask yourself who you want to be.”

 

As quickly as she appeared, Rosalyn is gone, leaving Sam with his accusing reflection. His body deflates immediately, no longer able to rally the strength to remain unaffected by her words.

 

Meeting his own hazel gaze in the mirror, he attempts the words he’s only before managed to say to the tiger, the only being who has yet to judge him and find him lacking.

 

“Lonely…” he whispers, swallowing against the lump in his throat. 

 

“You’re lonely,” Sam tells his likeness. To himself: “ _I_ am alone.”

 

There is no sudden burst of inspiration, no magical solution conjuring itself. There is only the mirror image of an uncertain young man who's abruptly left feeling more forlorn than he was a moment ago.

 

As expected, rousing applause follows Sam and Katie off the stage. Their audience is blind to Sam’s turmoil and they cheer enthusiastically for the masterful display they've just witnessed. He hears little, making his way to the wings of the stage and watching the conclusion of the show. Once again, Rosalyn’s spectacle is their finale and Sam comes out of his stupor to appreciate his animal companions even while paying little heed to their mistress.

 

When the final curtain drops, Sam moves with the throng of actors and spectators, a false smile in place as he’s congratulated. There’s nothing he hasn’t heard dozens of times before, so his responses seem natural and easy, appreciative. Jackie and Katie are among the few who could see the blankness in Sam’s eyes and the false smile but the two are nowhere to be found; Jackie is likely enjoying the quiet of her trailer and Katie, well, it’s impossible to guess.

 

Sam moves automatically through the throng, intent on fleeing. He has nearly escaped when a firm hand grasps his wrist and holds him in place. Spinning, a dream of luminous verdant eyes fresh in his mind, he’s disappointed to face an unremarkable man. His would-be captor is shorter than Sam but not much older, a long tangle of dark blonde hair falling over his shoulders. Eager, covetous brown eyes travel the length of Sam’s body and he feels vaguely sickened.

 

“I saw your performance,” the man begins clearly. “You are very accomplished.”

 

Sam can do nothing but thank him with a kind word and try to move away, but the grip tightens and the stranger’s voice drops to a low, seductive tenor.

 

“I was enchanted by you. You are like a force of nature and I can’t deny your appeal.” He takes a long look down Sam’s body, not noticing the stiff way Sam’s holding himself. “I wonder if you would deny me _anything_.”

 

Sam is familiar with all kinds of flattery but the vulgar implication strikes him deeply. Already confident, the man does not wait for a fiercely blushing Sam to reply.

 

“You’re an irresistible, beautiful creature," the man fawns. Then: "would you like to join me back in town?"

 

Sam opens his mouth to decline curtly but pauses. Rosalyn’s disappointment, Katie’s anger, and his own solitary shame return in a crush of thoughts and he reconsiders. Perhaps he can banish the loneliness for a short time - a single night with more than his strange dreams for company.

 

Sam has imagined giving himself to another, of sharing in a love profound enough to warrant the gift of his body. Agreeing to the proposition of a stranger is far from those naïve, romantic notions but he only gives a fleeting thought to their loss. This can mean nothing, a simple joining of bodies, and Sam pushes away his disappointment.

 

"All right."

 

For a moment he thinks he said it too quietly, but the man grins and Sam's stomach drops.

 

"You won't regret it," the man stammers excitedly even as Sam is doing just that. "Can I meet you at the gates?"

 

"Allow me ten minutes and I'll come find you." 

 

The other man either doesn’t hear, or simply ignores Sam's lack of enthusiasm, blinded by a lust that Sam doesn't reciprocate, and he ambles away with bright eyes. Sam is left alone and devastated, shocked at himself.

 

He was never even asked for his name.

 

The midway is less crowded now and Sam recognizes a few performers still socializing. He can't move, feet unwilling to take him towards the gate. A prickling sensation tingles along his spine, the familiar feeling of being watched. Through the wet shimmer on his eyelashes, Sam looks to his left and sees his tiger in its cage. The animal is pacing restlessly, stripes moving dizzyingly against the bars as the cat stalks.

 

The feline eyes are focused on Sam; they catch the light and flash green when the cat turns.

 

_Wrong_.

 

The word repeats in his mind as the tiger stares him down. The animal’s intelligent gaze sees straight through Sam to the torment within.

 

_It's wrong, Sam_.

 

He shudders and his mind clears, but that single thought remains. Sam gasps and the tiger stops pacing. Accepting this stranger's proposition is not the remedy - he's unsettled just by the thought of it.

 

Cursing harshly under his breath, Sam damns Rosalyn's influence and his own cowardice. If not for her interference, he never would have considered….

 

Sam holds the tiger's eyes for another moment as if to apologize, to reassure the creature of his change of heart, before he walks off in the opposite direction.

 

Sam knows what needs to be done but he's not looking forward to it. At the very least, he'll finally _know._


	3. Part III

Rosalyn actually looks taken aback when she opens her door and finds Sam there, cleaned and redressed. He'd dallied longer than necessary before coming, to ensure no chance encounters with the man from the audience and to drum up every reserve of courage.

 

Now he's flustered, his nervousness barely held in check as he stands in Rosalyn's doorway. There’s no one else with Rosalyn and that gives Sam some relief; he half expected to find Dean already here with the beautiful woman.

 

"I want to know about Dean," he says without preamble and watches with grim satisfaction as Rosalyn's eyes widen.

 

"This is about Dean?" There’s genuine surprise in her voice, but the way she says the other man's name strikes the first blow to Sam's heart. The hope he held that perhaps what he'd seen in Fairlawn was a misunderstanding is shattered.

 

"I saw you with him, Rosalyn." Sam steps inside her trailer when she backs away. "If you know so much about me then you would realize how I felt about him. But he came to see _you_ and you flaunted him before me."

 

"Sam, you don't understand-"

 

"Don't I?” Sam vents the anger he hasn’t been free to voice with anyone else. “What did you have to do, Rosalyn? Did you bewitch him?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Like all the other men you've - what?" He jerks his head to stare at her with the admission hanging heavy between them. "You’re saying that -"

 

"That I bewitched Dean? In a manner, yes, I did. But Sam, you need to understand -"

 

"Break it."

 

"What?"

 

Sam recovers from his shock. "Whatever hold you have over him, break it." He does not fear her wrath or the powers she's rumored to possess. All that matters is setting things right.

 

"It's not that simple, Sam," Rosalyn sighs.

 

"Then start explaining." He doesn't let his voice waver.

 

Rosalyn opens her mouth and Sam’s desperate to hear her manipulations, but the trailer begins to shake with the force of heavy footsteps up the metal stairs. His heart, still holding tight to hope, shatters completely when _Dean_ comes through the door. His simple clothing trails dust and grass and he's breathing heavily. Dean looks to Rosalyn with a fierce stare.

 

"I’ve looked everywhere," Dean doesn't bother to catch his breath before he speaks. "He wasn't in his trailer or at the gate. I made Emanuel go into town -"

 

Too caught up in Dean’s appearance, Sam doesn't notice the sudden silence. His anger drains swiftly at the sight of green eyes. In that moment Sam feels as if he's been made anew.

 

"Sam? Sam!"

 

Suddenly he's in Dean's strong arms. Sam’s knees give out in a rush but the other man catches him before he can collapse on the floor. For the first time, he’s physically surrounded by Dean. Arms wrapped in soft cotton hold him, and the feeling of completeness overwhelms Sam. Everything else, including Rosalyn, fades in Dean’s presence.

 

“God, I was worried about you, Sam.” Dean helps Sam to his feet and steadies him.

 

“Why – how did you _know_?” Sam manages to ask as he studies Dean’s face. Ignoring Rosalyn’s unintelligible murmurs, Sam feels himself being scrutinized by Dean.

 

“That man in the crowd – the way he was touching you, as if he had the _right_ ,” Dean grates, pausing to take a deep breath. “And your face, Sam. I could see how scared you were - how empty you felt."

 

“You were there?”

 

“Dean,” Rosalyn interrupts. “Are you sure?”

 

“You started this,” Dean snaps at her. “There’s no going back now.”

 

Dean hasn’t stopped touching Sam since his dizzy spell, which is fortunate since Sam would fall over again without the support. He doesn’t want to question Dean’s unexpected arrival yet; he’s too caught up in the security and ease of being with Dean, despite the circumstances, to ruin the mood. However, Sam’s mind demands answers.

 

“What is Rosalyn talking about, Dean?” Those expressive green eyes shift back to meet Sam’s. “She said she bewitched you.”

 

The enchantress tries to step between Dean and Sam. “I should explain -“

 

“No,” Dean slings his arm around Sam’s back, guiding him to the door and leaving no question that he’s in control. “I'll talk to him alone and if Sam wants to know more, then he can come back.”

 

Sam’s grateful when Dean hurries him down the steps without further argument from Rosalyn, and into the night air. He came here to interrogate Rosalyn but he’d rather hear the answers from Dean.

 

They’re quiet as they walk, steps measured to keep pace with one another. Tension bleeds perceptibly from Dean’s frame the further away they get from Rosalyn’s encampment. Sam stands taller yet he feels slighter in Dean’s company. Dean's charisma makes him larger than life. Sam’s not intimidated; the sensation leaves him feeling more secure. Away from the enchantress, hope blossoms again in Sam’s heart.

 

It’s like a dream – one of the many Sam’s had since he first saw Dean in Oxford Main. Being beside Dean feels right. Fated. It’s so familiar, as if they’ve been together in places other than Sam’s vivid dreams.

 

“Dean -“

 

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry.”

 

The emotions are easy to read on Dean’s face. “For what?”

 

“For making you think you were alone,” Dean answers softly. “You were _never_ alone.”

 

Knowing how he’s felt for weeks, Sam would argue, but the statement sounds more like another apology.

 

“I thought about you,” Sam declares quietly. “Ever since Oxford Main, when I first saw you, I’ve been thinking about you.”

 

Dean doesn’t seem surprised. Perhaps Rosalyn already told him that.

 

“You’ve been on my mind for just as long, Sam.” Sam stumbles but Dean acts as if he said nothing out of sorts. “I wish I could have told you sooner.”

 

“Told me what?”

 

Dean’s quiet until they’ve circled the camp. The pair comes to a familiar place and Sam jumps ahead of Dean, falling to his knees in front of the tiger’s cage, eager to share his happiness.

 

But the cage is empty.

 

Fear comes over him and he looks left and right, feeling Dean come up behind him. He stands quickly, about to tell Dean of the animal’s escape when he catches the other man’s expression.

 

“When I saw you with that bastard in the crowd, I wanted to tear down these bars to get to you.” He raises his hand and draws his fingers carefully along one of the metal rods, testing their give. “I would have done _anything_ to save you from that, Sam. I wanted to spare you that shame. It was his fault – he should never have talked to you like that.”

 

Sam can’t speak. The implications of what Dean’s telling him are too big to process. He lays a hand gingerly on Dean’s waist, turning him so Sam can look down to see if there’s honesty in his eyes.

 

That familiar bright green gaze meets Sam’s and _Sam knows_. He comprehends the truth before Dean can speak it. In the darkness, broken only by moonlight and the glow of the midway, Sam recognizes the flash of reflection in Dean’s eyes.

 

“I should have come to you sooner, Sam. Every time you came to my cage I felt what you needed, but there was nothing I could do.”

 

For the second time that night, Sam’s balance fails and he stumbles. Instead of falling into Dean’s arms he collapses back against the bars of the cage. _Dean’s cage_. In a split second, Dean is crouching in front of him, pressed close and spinning Sam’s senses further out of control. Instead of retreating, he welcomes the intimate contact and longs for the chance to have Dean even _closer_. 

 

Their eyes are level – the very same eyes Sam had come to cherish as he sat for endless hours with his tiger. Sam sees the familiar flecks of gold and black ringing Dean’s pupils now, wondering why he didn’t recognize the tiger’s spirit in Dean before.

 

“How – how is this even _possible_?”

 

“It’s a long story.”

 

“And I want to hear it,” Sam manages to whisper, unwilling to force Dean away.

 

“You will,” Dean’s smile is teasing and warm, and Sam forgets to protest the diversion. “But come on, there’s more I have to show you.”

 

Again, Sam lets himself be led across the campgrounds, along well known paths. They avoid the distant hums of conversation and the main gate. It’s a surprise when Sam realizes they’re heading for his trailer. Dean allows Sam to step up and unlock the door. One look tells Sam that Katie’s still absent – the busy village is too tempting with its draw.

 

“How did you know which trailer was mine?”

 

“I get restless and explore a lot,” Dean smirks, following Sam up the rickety metal steps which groan beneath their feet. “Right now, I doubt there’s very much I don’t know about you, Sammy.”

 

The strange nickname falls like a soft rain on Sam’s ears. A memory sparks and fades in his mind, too quick for Sam to hold on to. Inside the trailer, Sam stays close until Dean gently pushes him away. Sam is on unfamiliar ground and he's nervous again, though it's nowhere near the frantic apprehension he’d felt when faced with the man who propositioned him.

 

“I just need to be close to you, Dean.” The thought slips from Sam’s mouth. “When I talked to you – if you were the tiger, you must know how I feel.”

 

“Oh, I do,” Dean concedes and shakes his head, eyes trained on the floor. “Part of me wonders why you’re not pissed, Sammy, after everything _I_ was putting you through.”

 

“I wanted to be angry,” Sam responds. “But my ire was always more focused on Rosalyn. And when she claimed to have bewitched you, I was furious.”

 

“But I was the one who disappeared and left you wondering.”

 

“And now you’re here.”

 

Dean sighs, lifting his head. “Simple as that, huh?”

 

“Yes.”

 

They look at each other for a long moment. Sam doesn’t know what thoughts swirl behind those deep green eyes, but he pushes everything aside in his mind except _Dean_.

 

“What did you want to show me?”

 

“Can you sit?”

 

Sam glances around and decides his bed is the most comfortable spot. Behind the partition they’ll be hidden in case Katie unexpectedly returns and Sam tries to hide his blush as he takes a seat on the mattress. He shifts awkwardly when Dean steps directly in front of him; the blood not flushing his cheeks travels in a wholly new direction.

 

"What are you doing?"

 

"I said I had something to show you."

 

"And it requires removing your shirt?" Sam questions as Dean's doing exactly that. Dean winks and it brings an answering smile to Sam's face. 

 

He feels a novel rush of exhilaration when Dean sheds his dark shirt. Sam's no stranger to a body's natural form and grace, having trained his own for so long. When he first saw Dean, Sam was ashamed of his late night imaginings. He would picture Dean just like this, create in his mind’s eye every line and curve of Dean’s body, but the reality hits low and hot with the sight of a pale chest and tight abdomen.

 

"Sammy?"

 

He spends too long in lustful contemplation and Dean snaps fingers in front of Sam’s face. Dean doesn’t hide his amusement when Sam looks his fill. When Sam’s perusal reaches broad shoulders, a strange marking catches his eye. He gasps when he realizes what it is. 

 

Sam stands and places his fingers on the smooth dark line that wraps over hard muscle and ends on Dean's collarbone.

 

"What -?" He meets Dean's eyes and sees the lightheartedness there.

 

"That's what I wanted you to see."

 

Sam draws his fingers along the widening mark, tracing as it flows to Dean’s back. Dean stands still and allows Sam’s silent exploration but Sam can feel the shiver when he moves around to Dean’s side. One line meets another and another. Fully behind Dean now, Sam stares in awe at the beautiful markings that spread across his friend’s back, over his shoulders and down the back of his arms. He knows every pattern the stripes make, each imaginary picture Sam’s seen with sleepy eyes.

 

“How can this happen?” Sam turns full circle to face Dean.

 

“All part of that long story, Sammy.” 

 

After performances, contact like this makes Sam anxious and awkward, but Dean’s closeness doesn’t bother him. Strangely, he suspects that every touch he presses to Dean’s flesh is welcomed, just as Sam would accept any caress from Dean.

 

The air surrounding the two men is charged - a pulse between them like a current across heated filaments. Sam longs to twine with Dean and give himself as he’d considered doing earlier. But Sam’s bravado is depleted, spent on the fortification necessary for confronting Rosalyn. What’s left is not enough for Sam to move and fit himself along Dean’s body, still fearful that this is nothing but a dream. Part of him hopes that Dean will take the initiative, bear him back to the mattress and teach him all those mysteries he has yet to experience, but no such move comes.

 

“They’re a nice touch, aren’t they?” Dean jokes with a crooked smile; Sam realizes he’s still fingering the darkened stripes.

 

“They’re beautiful.”

 

Dean’s trying to ease the weighty mood and Sam lets a matching grin stretch across his face. An image comes to mind of Sam sitting with the tiger on those lazy afternoons, speaking and scratching, discovering all the spots on _Dean_ that made him chuff and rumble. And he remembers….

 

“Do you have spots on your ears?” Sam gives no warning and pounces on Dean, palming his shoulder to spin him and get close behind his neck.

 

“Hey – no! Sammy…”

 

The playful mood is easier, and Sam’s finally thrown back onto the bed while Dean laughs heartily, swatting at Sam’s eager hands and falling atop him when Sam gets a grip on his thick linen pants. They tumble and roll together, Sam witnessing that the stripes are not the only feline trait Dean carries. Only when Sam yawns deeply, face buried into Dean’s side, do they stop and allow their breathing to slow. 

 

He doesn’t mean to, wanting to make up for all the pain and separation he’s already had to endure, but Sam’s carried away by the sounds of Dean’s soft exhales beside him and he drifts slowly into oblivion.

Sam wakes up in the dark. He could have been asleep for hours or mere moments. His body is instantly awake – all that occurred the night before is present and vivid in his thoughts.

 

“Morning.”

 

The subdued greeting is whispered into his ear and Sam turns to find Dean, awake and redressed, kneeling over him.

 

“It is?”

 

“Barely, but yeah.”

 

Sam stretches and shifts on the mattress. “Why are you dressed?”

 

“I have to get back to Rosalyn."

 

He pushes himself up closer to Dean. “Why? I thought that last night -“

 

“This enchantment’s not permanent, Sammy,” Dean explains in a hushed, regretful voice. “It would be weird for the company to find empty cages where fearsome, wild animals should be.” Dean must see the disappointment on Sam’s face as he continues. “I wish I could stay, Sammy.”

 

“Just a little bit longer?”

 

Dean smiles, as if arguing is the last thing he would do. “I think I can manage that.”

 

When Dean settles back on the mattress, Sam doesn’t hesitate to press against him. It’s an innocent gesture in his mind but carries the weight of potential. Moving one leg to bump across Dean’s knee, Sam hears a quiet, contented sigh.

 

“You’re not very fearsome.”

 

“Mmm, I’m wild though.”

 

They lay in relaxed silence for a time; the hour must be early as Sam can’t perceive a brightening of the sky.

 

“Dean?"

 

“Yeah, Sammy?”

 

“Why me?”

 

“Why you, what?” Dean mimics.

 

“I thought I was just a pest when I confessed all those things to you,” Sam explains. “Why did you put up with me?”

 

“You smelled familiar,” Dean finally answers, turning his nose into Sam’s neck and inhaling deeply, tickling the sensitive skin stretched over tendon. “And, I don’t know, your presence felt comfortable. For an animal, that’s a no brainer. Smells good, feels good – it’s an instant recipe for friendship.”

 

“Oh,” Sam doesn’t mean to sound dissatisfied but Dean pushes against him playfully to soften the blow. “Was that all?”

 

Propped on an elbow, Dean looms over him casually, close enough for Sam’s searching eyes to pick out the faint sun dusting on Dean’s face.

 

“Did you think that was all?”

 

Sam opens his mouth but can’t form the right response. It matters little as only a moment later, Dean smiles and lowers his lips gently to Sam’s, stealing his breath and his chance to speak. He doesn't mind the loss of either.

 

The only kisses Sam has known are Jackie’s motherly pecks, Katie’s ‘shine-sweetened kisses when she manages to snare Sam in the halls, and a single chaste touch of lips from a flustered girl in Hadrian when he was seventeen. His lack of experience fades in the wake of Dean’s confidence; he succumbs to every light kiss and soft lick Dean bestows, lost in the moment’s perfection.

 

“You’re irresistible,” Dean breathes against his cheek when he allows their mouths to draw apart. Sam immediately stiffens at the word, the crude man’s proposition echoing in his mind. But Dean sees his distress and soothes him with another kiss.

 

“I know what you’re thinking, Sam, but listen to me. You _are_ irresistible, but not for _this_.” Dean’s position changes; he curls over Sam to lay several open mouthed kisses along his collarbone. The sensation tightens Sam’s stomach and quickens his blood. “For _this_.” Dean’s lips end up over Sam’s breastbone and he pauses, laying an ear against Sam’s chest to hear the fluttering rhythm of his heart. The touch goes no further but Sam’s body is vibrating with a need Dean cannot mistake.

 

When he meets green eyes a moment later, he senses a way to express his desires without awkward exchanges or nervous flutters.

 

“Can you watch my act tonight?”

 

“I’m not performing?”

 

“No, the dancers have choreographed tonight’s finale.”

 

“Then yeah, I’ll have Rosalyn move the trailers so I can-“

 

Sam stops him and presses a hand to Dean’s warm cheek. “No, I want _you_ there.”

 

“It’s always _me_ , Sammy.”

 

“Please?”

 

Dean ponders for only a second, though to Sam it feels infinite. “I can talk to Rosalyn. She owes us for what she’s put you through.”

 

As soon as Dean agrees, Sam's mind starts to spin. Tonight cannot come soon enough.

 

"I have to go, Sammy." 

 

He barely notices that he's been clinging to Dean, the words a soft stir of breath against his temple.

 

"I know."

 

"I'm not going to leave you again."

 

"I could go with you back to the pen,” Sam offers hesitantly, willing to brave the cool morning air for more time with Dean.

 

Dean laughs, a familiar rumble under Sam's chest. "I'm pretty sure that hay is only comfortable for me. You might not be too happy with it. And besides, if someone found you sleeping in a cage? People would talk, Sammy."

 

"I don't care."

 

"Stay here and sleep," Dean moves from beneath and Sam lets go. "Think about tonight."

 

His mind will be filled with little else, he knows. "I'll come and see you."

 

"Bring food." 

 

Dean’s simple request makes Sam smile into his pillow. With a last kiss to the back of Sam's neck, Dean slides away and quietly leaves.

The third time Sam wanders through the outdoor galley, Anna and David chase him off, but not before he snags another doughy roll and some cured meat. After that he waylays Katie as she’s ducking into their trailer for, from the look of her, a much-needed nap.

 

"I want to change the act we're doing tonight,” Sam says without as much as a simple greeting.

 

"Can you assault me after I sleep, Sam?" Katie ties her dark hair back and yawns improperly wide. She looks beyond exhausted but he knows her well; she'll be fine by the time they take the stage.

 

"Just fair warning, we're doing the 'strings' routine."

 

Sam watches Katie’s face and silently counts the seconds.

 

_Three. Two..._

 

"Sam! Wait." She doesn't sound nearly as tired now and her eyes are wide when she spins around. "We've never done that act. Why now?"

 

"Feels like the right time, string-bean. Are you ready for it?"

 

"Of course I'm ready, Sam," she huffs indignantly, hair shaking loose from its ties and swirling around her face. "But God, I need to prepare, check my costume, and make sure my mother has the right makeup!"

 

"Get some sleep, it'll be better for you," he says, understanding how Dean must have felt that morning when he was shooing Sam back to bed. "I'll take care of everything. Don't be nervous."

 

"Don't be - _Samuel Montgomery_! You're a jerk. Of course I'll be nervous!"

 

He keeps up his calm charade even though he’s feeling the same dread deep in his gut. 

 

"We'll be fine."

 

The day drags on as Sam expected. The sun’s barely past mid-sky when Sam takes the latest batch of pilfered food to Dean’s cage. It is quieter there, Rosalyn’s vehicles now parked at the far edge of the company’s parcel. Dean pushes himself onto all fours, whether from the sight of Sam or the smell of food. Already knowing that Rosalyn has conceded to their plans – Sam doesn’t think Dean left his trainer with much of a choice – he can just sit and listen to Dean munching on his third snack of the day.

 

Clouds move at a snail’s pace across the sky, leaving drier and milder air in their wake. Sam takes a short nap in the sweet grass beside Dean’s cage and wakes to the sensation of Dean’s sandpaper tongue licking his cheek. Noise in the camp is picking up as the sun begins to set, and the sounds of hustle and bustle drift to their secluded corner.

 

There’s no need for reassurances that Dean will come tonight, so Sam spends a last moment rubbing beneath the tiger’s chin before he departs. The low whine from behind him is as good as a promise.

 

The crowds gather early just as they did the night before. Taylor’s stick-thin young son and Enrique’s brightly-smiling daughter have inherited Sam and Katie’s former job. The children take coins at the gate and welcome all comers to the stage.

 

Sam moves hurriedly through the lines of people without looking up, and makes for his trailer. Katie and Jackie are already there. The younger woman looks better, rested and resolved, while the elder studies Sam when he walks in. He silently begs his mother for peace even though he can tell that something’s bothering her. Tonight, all he wants is perfection. Sam thinks he deserves it.

 

Clothes are shed quickly and Jackie helps him into his costume before starting on the two artistes’ makeup. As it is applied, a mist of luminous powders and darker kohls, Sam feels the transformation begin. Gone are the shy eyes of an innocent youth, replaced by a sensuous and captivating gaze. His kind face morphs into a confident and seductive visage. And the man Dean kissed and rolled with that very morning begins to disappear.

The music starts somberly. A hush falls over the audience when the curtain draws back to reveal Sam and Katie twined together. On the playbills clutched in every spectator's hand, their duo has been billed as spectacular and magnificent, but their pas-de-deux ballet tonight is soft and evocative – an act that has not been shared with an audience since the days when Jacqueline DuBois performed. Sam’s mother has patiently and painstakingly passed the moves on to Katie and her son.

 

Sam has no illusions; despite the crowd's eager stares and bated breath, tonight is for Dean, for _them_.

 

He sweats beneath the chalky powders and heavy, colored brush strokes that cover his skin more thoroughly than his costume. Sam’s entire body is alive and overheated, the fire beneath his skin caused only in part by the bright lights and makeup.

 

The string music increases and decreases in intensity as the pair perform, stretching in intimate movements. Crescendos within the song mirror the fluid and deliberate motions on stage. Sam's hands are steady on Katie's body when he lifts her, and her small palms encircle Sam's arms for balance. Their lines are as smooth as the notes of the violins.

 

Sam is not so far gone in his trance that he cannot find Dean. The emerald gaze is palpable, a physical weight Sam feels as he moves. Dean’s intense, focused stare does not weigh him down. His movements are easy and effortless.

 

Assured of Dean's rapt attention, Sam's body melds with Katie's, creating startling shapes and figures, evoking scenes through their movements. It takes skill and power in addition to a flawless sense of balance for their acrobatics.

 

Their acts can cover a range of emotions - comedic to elegant, to technical shows of astounding ballet - but tonight is more exotic. The deep, evocative notes accompany the slow seduction between Katie and Sam - between Dean and Sam. Sleek, tight costumes are meant to mirror nakedness, highlighting their muscles and perfectly honed bodies while putting every curve and ridge on display. It could be awkward, displayed for so many, but Sam feels little besides calm as he seduces his partner and his audience, and is seduced in turn by lustful green eyes and parted, full lips.

 

Instead of strict ballet and lift, or a series of antics, this performance is meant solely to ensnare and captivate. Their bodies mimic the powerful embraces and sensual touches of the original dance of existence, two forms coming together as the heavens intended - worshipful and adoring. Where they normally receive random bouts of applause and cheers, this recital draws impressed gasps mingled with the deep sighs of longing from those who desire to feel the passion Sam and Katie flawlessly act their way through.

 

When he turns to the crowd, Katie and the sea of anonymous faces disappear as Sam's body is paced through the routine. It's only Sam and Dean, so recently attuned to one another, existing in the dark, warm night.

 

The music slows; it’s an element unto itself in the performance, like another character. The melody turns haunting, its heart-wrenching tune is ominous of the deep tragedy Sam and Katie are depicting - passionate lovers separated, and mourning as they yearn to be together. The crowd feels the loss even as their hope of a joyful reunion for the lovers never dies.

 

Sam is sure that Dean can see beyond the masked expression he’s wearing, deep into his soul. To the audience, he's a mystery, but to Dean, an open book. It's fitting since in many ways, Dean has unwittingly shaped his every move. Up here, Sam has always been what he wanted Dean to see, and never has it been more obvious than tonight.

 

By the time the music reaches its climax, Sam wonders just how flushed he is. Dean's gaze is still strong, a steady caress over his body. Enacting such an sensual exhibition makes him shiver with need. Last night Sam was hesitant, unable to express his desire. The persona he channels now couldn't be more different. He wants nothing more than the heated press of flesh on flesh, possessing the knowledge to tantalize Dean in so many ways.

 

Sam starts to count down the motions left until he can be with Dean. _Lift. Lock._ He wants to drag the broader man away from the lights and the curious stares to where only he's able to see the other man. _Hold. Twist and bend._ He'll start at Dean's throat, the skin that captured his attention yesterday - the same spot that makes the tiger roll and tense with pleasure. _Arch your back. Push and stay still._ Wonder what his tongue across that crease will do to the _human_ Dean. 

 

Sam and Katie finish to the thunder of applause and high whistles. They've earned every clap and holler after a show like none before. Katie draws him into a graceful bow when Sam doesn't respond to the squeeze of her hand. All he sees is Dean beside the stage, waiting for him.

 

Close enough now, applause a deafening roar, Dean grabs his arm and whisks them both away despite the jostling of the crowd and shouted requests for Sam's company. 

 

The two men ignore _everything_ , even Jackie's harsh stare when the oblivious duo disappears into the night.

Dean and Sam come together as soon as they're hidden from sight.

 

Words are unnecessary once Dean turns and pulls Sam's mouth roughly to his. For a moment Sam's caught off guard by the sheer power of the kiss and can’t respond, but Dean doesn’t relent. His tongue twines coaxingly with Sam's until he can hold his own. 

 

Sam doesn't let his trance fade away; he needs the confidence to remain, keeping Dean caught up in the allure of the artiste. He wants to be Dean's equal in passion, not just a pliable body. Sam thinks of this as just another kind of dance with a singular focus, new motions that need to be learned and he trusts Dean to be his instructor.

 

Coming together with such force, Sam wonders if the earth does not shake with the might of it. The trembling is centered within him. Dean feels it, massaging Sam's long arms with sure strokes down muscle as if his touch could prevent Sam from vibrating out of his skin.

 

The exertion from his performance catches up and Sam feels winded. Pins-and-needles tickle along Sam’s arms and legs as his limbs get used to being motionless. Dean’s touch adds to that sensation; his hands grasp firmly around the back of Sam’s neck and run through the damp tendrils at his nape.

 

Sam’s eyelashes flutter against Dean's cheek as sweat mixed with shimmering powder slips in and stings at Sam's eyes. Dean steps back and wipes the resulting tears away, tender motions belying recent ardor.

 

"Come on, Sammy. It’s just a little farther."

 

They're still at the edge of the wood, not entirely out of the way if any performers or villagers pass by. Dean leads them further into the dark brush until they come to a small cleared area where blankets, water, and other necessities wait in preparation. Sam holds tightly to Dean’s arm, pulling him down on the mat. Picking up a small cloth and wetting it, Dean wipes at Sam's face.

 

Sam pulls back at the first touch of cool fabric on his flushed cheek. He can't do this - it won't be the same if Dean takes away his mask.

 

"No..." Sam tries to push Dean's hand away.

 

The other man's eyes are soft and unchallenging. "What's wrong?"

 

"It'll just be me," he whispers, ducking back when Dean reaches for his face again.

 

" _Just you_ is all I want, Sammy."

 

"I'm not the same person when I'm not-"

 

"So there are two sides to you," Dean interjects. "Did you think _I_ would mind?" He leans forward and nuzzles into the curve where Sam's neck meets shoulder. The feline movement reminds Sam of the other creature he loves so much. There's no way to separate the affectionate animal and the charismatic man about to become his lover.

 

"Just let me," Sam hears, and gives himself over.

 

Dean sits up, maneuvering Sam between his knees so their faces are close. He shuts his eyes when the cool cloth lightly sweeps traces of the artiste away. Down his neck, over his exposed collarbones, and to the upper edge of his insubstantial costume; it's all washed clean.

 

"Hey, Sammy." There’s a bright smile when Dean finishes, nothing remaining but Sam and shivering skin. It's not cold but the breeze chills where it meets moist skin. The thin fabric of Sam's costume is all that's left between them.

 

Dean's mouth is upturned, almost sweet, while Sam wavers. When Sam's fingers settle on Dean's wrist, sliding beneath the cuff of his shirt and tracing stripes he knows are there, heat flares again in those green eyes.

 

It's Sam kissing Dean this time, abolishing the space between them and swallowing Dean's shock. He is inexperienced, but his body leads, arching just right to have Dean curving against him until they both topple onto the soft mat. Dean laughs, falling awkwardly atop him and the sound lightens something within Sam. The chuckling ceases when Sam shifts and their lower bodies connect with searing heat.

 

After that, Sam loses the ability to speak and Dean is focused on stripping the last barriers away. Sam's suit is a challenge for Dean’s hands, but Sam expertly slides the thin costume off, feeling no more exposed without it. Dean looks magnificent tonight. It’s easier to see the angles of his body by moonlight and appreciate the toned stripes that cross his broad body. Sam wants to learn every line by heart and be able to follow each pattern even with his eyes closed.

 

Finally bare, they press together and begin learning each other by touch. Sounds of pleasure fill the clearing. Sam has never felt a thrill like Dean's strong touch. For the few moments he's able to think clearly, he compares it to the sensation of being on stage. There's exhilaration, anticipation, and the feeling that he no longer inhabits his body. He can almost see the two of them from above - can watch the way Dean _knows_ just where to settle his palms, how to elicit the most decadent moans and incoherent pleas from Sam's lips. He sees his own touch becoming more confident with Dean's encouragement.

 

Positioned above Sam, Dean shifts to grind their bodies together, the rhythm instinctual and easy. The dark lines that curve from behind Dean's neck are tempting, and Sam latches on with lips and tongue, feels the cording of Dean's throat when he kisses there.

 

Sam shudders, instincts that once lay dormant allow him to mimic Dean's motions and writhe enticingly. He's grateful that he waited for this instead of gifting his body in haste. It's clear in that moment of euphoria that he belongs to Dean. Maybe he always has.

 

Dean obliterates Sam's senses until there's nothing left but pleasure. Both men cry out before Dean covers Sam's mouth to muffle the sounds, drown them in a wet dance of tongues. Sam begins to feel complete for the first time he can remember; Dean fills the voids he never realized existed. He tightens his grip on Dean's arms and feels their breathing slow.

 

If it were possible, Sam would never let Dean go.

 

The stars bear sole witness to their afterglow; Sam's body is lax from being used and explored in new ways. Dean's touch is curious and gentle, skin as soft as the fur he is forced to wear.

 

Sam breaks the silence cautiously. He barely knows what to say - it's difficult to put this moment into words.

 

"I'm glad you saw this show, Dean. More than the others, this one was yours."

 

"Others?"

 

He would have thought it was obvious, but perhaps Dean hadn't been able to see, to _feel_....

 

"Every time I performed, it was for you." The blanket's warm and soft against Sam's back, Dean even warmer at his side. He listens to the buzzing of the grasshoppers while he's patiently awaiting Dean's response.

 

"I thought - you, that's not just how you _are_?"

 

"I never performed until after I saw you for the first time."

 

"Don't -" Dean's voice quavers and Sam can feel a similar shivering where their bodies touch. "Don't make me feel special. I'm not."

 

Sam will argue that later, because he _is_ , and it's obvious. What could have robbed Dean of his worth in this life? The self-deprecation is out of place in such a mesmerizing soul. But he'll let nothing rob them of this moment. It’s a perfect slice of infinity Sam can hold onto for the rest of his life.

 

And he'll cling to Dean until the sun warms the sky and their spell is broken once more.

Dean notices her first.

 

They've dressed, fitting each other into shirts and pants that don't compare to the softness of each other's touch. With unreadable dark eyes, Rosalyn stands and watches them. 

 

Their time is up.

 

"Rosie."

 

Her mouth twists with mirth at the nickname but she ignores Sam’s cold eyes. "Dean."

 

Unfazed by her, Dean helps Sam up. For a moment, the three stare at each other and the air is thick with apprehension.

 

"If you two don't mind," Dean breaks their staring match. "I think I'd like to be absent for story time."

 

As he did earlier, Dean shrinks away from the possibility of explaining his extraordinary situation. Sam's torn between leaving with Dean and remaining to get his answers.

 

"Dean-"

 

"I've heard it all, Sammy." He can't place the other man's tone; Sam didn’t think it was possible for Dean to be afraid. "Rather not hear it again."

 

"It can wait."

 

"No, you should hear it. Rosie?"

 

"I'll send him to you when we're finished," she reassures. "Marco is with Jakob at the edge of the woods - he'll find you."

 

Dean shakes his head and lets his hand slip from Sam's grip. "Yeah."

 

There it is again, the slight undercurrent of fear that Sam nearly misses. Dean's expression holds nothing but affection though, and the last kiss he lays on Sam’s lips is steady and sure. "I'll - thanks, Sammy."

 

Dean steps up to Rosalyn and everything happens too quickly for Sam to comprehend. The enchantress raises one fine-boned hand to Dean’s forehead and the sudden flash of light nearly blinds Sam. Whatever’s happening before his eyes, the power is stemming from Rosalyn.

 

When the sparks behind his eyelids fade and Sam blinks the clearing back into focus, the human Dean is gone. The tiger crouches in his place with its large head bowed solemnly towards the grass. The bright green, feline eyes never look up to meet hazel and Sam has no chance to comfort the animal before Dean stalks from the clearing.

 

Sam watches until the Dean disappears into the brush. He stands motionless until Rosalyn comes to his side.

 

"Do you still think I'm evil, Sam?"

 

"I never-"

 

"You give away so much in your face," she adds before he can fully deny her accusation. "I saw how you looked at me the very first time you saw Dean on the grounds."

 

"What was he doing there?" Sam isn't about to forgive her without cause. "And why did you - he never even _looked_ at me."

 

"He desperately wanted to see you that night," Rosalyn says after a moment, drawing his lowered gaze. "You were the only thing on Dean's mind."

 

"Then why didn't he stay?”

 

"Dean thought of nothing else, not even his own safety or the secret he shares. And we'll get to that, Sam," she promises, probably knowing how little sense she makes. “It wasn't safe for Dean to approach you then and really, aren't you past that now?"

 

Sam smiles at how _past that_ he and Dean are; his mouth curves with the memory of last night.

 

"So you aren't evil," Sam says with a hint of lingering doubt, meeting Rosalyn’s handsome grin. "But what's this grand secret you're keeping?"

 

Rosalyn's quiet, stepping soundlessly over the grass and putting some distance between them. Sam has to tear his gaze from the spot where Dean disappeared in order to follow her. He lags a few paces behind her slighter form. At the opposite edge of the clearing, she speaks.

 

"What do you think of Dean?"

 

Blood flushes quickly to his cheeks, as a variety of images come to mind. He's glad Rosalyn doesn't turn around. Studying her posture, Sam wonders what kind of answer she's looking for.

 

In such a short time, Dean has become _everything_ , but Sam doesn’t want to share that yet. He wants that feeling buried deep, warming him from the inside, its residual heat to be felt only by Dean.

 

“Dean is familiar,” Sam begins, judging Rosalyn’s reactions before he continues. “I used to have dreams and he was there. I didn’t know it was him - he was merely a constant presence - but he was comfortable in a way I’d never known. I know it sounds absurd, but I think I made him up in my dreams and he’s suddenly come to life.”

 

Sam pauses to laugh at how ridiculous he’s sounds. “Or maybe I’m crazy. I heard so many fantastic tales when I was a child and _now_ I think my life is a fairytale.”

 

“But what about Dean now?” Rosalyn prods, and her smile is gentler. “How does he strike you?”

 

"He's out of place." There's no simpler way for Sam to say it. "Some of the things he says, the way he moves - and I _know_ it, I recognize it. I don’t think I can really explain. It’s not because he's this supernatural being either. I don't -” Sam sighs. “I feel as if I've always known Dean, but I'm not sure what that means."

 

The intimidating woman considers for a moment, and Sam fears he’s said something displeasing. Then she grins.

 

"Maybe you _have_ always known him."

 

Rosalyn speaks as if she holds the world in her palm, no matter the implications. As far as Sam is concerned, she can _have_ the world.

 

"Do you ever give a clear answer?"

 

Rosalyn's laugh is as light as the early morning breeze floating around them, but Sam trembles hard and resists the urge to throttle her. Sam's heart is pounding; her misdirection is frustrating.

 

"When I was at the Southern borders, I found a young tiger roaming on a small preserve. He was kept by a family of vagabonds who had no idea the magnificence of that animal. It was easy for me to see how restless he was in captivity and I promised him a better life."

 

"By trading one cage for another." It wasn’t a question and Rosalyn doesn’t answer.

 

"Tell me what he is or leave me to find out on my own." Sam’s frustration bleeds into his voice. No one in his life has ever played such games and Sam can no longer tolerate Rosalyn’s maddening evasiveness.

 

"He's a trapped soul. I was able to recognize the being within the tiger's outer ego and added him to my collection."

 

"Your _collection_?" The words fly from Sam's lips as he sputters. "There's no way you could...do you realize how absurd that sounds?"

 

"Can you deny it?" Rosalyn is fierce now, stalking beneath Sam's nose and almost primal herself. "You’ve already seen the signs, Sam. You said it yourself, Dean is out of place in this world and there’s a very good reason for that. _This_ is not his world.” Then, almost an afterthought: “I'm very talented, Sam, you shouldn't doubt that."

 

Sam finds he’s having trouble moving past his anger. "But your _collection_? Do you mean to say that the animals - your performers - they're all...?"

 

"Just like Dean? Yes, some of them are."

 

Sam’s mind quickly jumps to his first sighting of Dean and the strange, tall man who’d accompanied him. "That man I saw with Dean, back in Oxford Main?"

 

"That was Emanuel, but you might recognize him as the black stallion."

 

The world is spinning too quickly beneath Sam’s feet, too fast for him to catch up and this time Dean’s not here to reach out and steady him.

 

"Oh God..."

 

"God has _little_ to do with this."

 

The venom lacing her words hits him and he stumbles back over his own feet. "Then how?"

 

"If I knew that, I could-"

 

" _Rosalyn_ ," he channels Dean and growls her name. His tiger would preen with pride at the way Rosalyn shrinks away. "Tell me how."

 

"I don't know, honestly. I learned to recognize these trapped souls from a witch living on the Western Isles."

 

A suspicion confirmed. "So you’ re a witch then."

 

"Did you ever doubt it, Sam?"

 

Looking into her narrowed, obsidian eyes, Sam silently admits that he hadn’t. Not really. Even from their first meeting there’d been something off-putting in her elegant manner – something fearsome. Sam had wanted to deny since the very notion was absurd. Childhood stories were one thing, but Rosalyn’s mastery over her animals is another.

 

"You _collect_ these imprisoned souls and what? Use them for your fame and entertainment?" Suddenly Sam's thankful Dean isn't there to witness their argument. All of his ire can be vented in a single rush without involving or shaming the other man.

 

"I've told you before, I'm not cruel."

 

"Then tell me _why_ you’re doing this and I might start believing you!"

 

"Don’t you believe that _this_ is not all that we are, Sam? How many animals roaming the wilds once had human souls? Only a few? Perhaps thousands of animals on this earth once had human souls, or maybe every single creature.”

 

"And you want to manipulate all of them?"

 

"I can't,” she admits with a sigh and Sam’s actually relieved. “Animals like Dean – Emanuel and Jakob – they're so rare," her eyes glaze slightly with a wistful sheen. "I think that most trapped souls are never released and lose themselves to their primal ego, the outer skin that they wear. They become nothing more than the animals they appear to be and we know nothing more of the souls they once were."

 

"Dean hasn't always been a tiger," Sam voices the knowledge already deep in his bones.

 

"In a world like ours, yet very different, Dean died." Despite having held Dean - very much _alive_ \- in his arms only hours before, the thought is painful. "I imagine that he had a destiny to fulfill but his life was cut short before he could accomplish whatever it was."

 

"And now he's trapped within the tiger?"

 

"He cannot be separated from the animal. Surely you've seen that, Sam."

 

The stripes, the unmistakable feline characteristics that the human Dean displays. And then there was the remarkable charisma of the animal - compassion and humor, the ability to calm Sam's nerves. Everything about the complex creature _is_ Dean, and Sam is in love with all of him.

 

"I keep him and the others close, release them from the animals in order to preserve their humanity!" Rosalyn insists. "With all honesty, Sam, I believe that when they pass on from this world, they're reborn into another. They’re merely trapped here in such a way they cannot fulfill whatever it was they were meant to. By allowing them to remain human at least part of the time, I'm giving them the chance to complete their destinies in the next life. Once lost, a soul can never be recovered. It is captured forever in its final form, never able to be reborn in another guise."

 

It's easier to accept what Rosalyn's saying than to question every remarkable statement. However, Sam can disagree with her course. 

 

"Maybe that's more merciful than endless cycles searching for their paths."

 

"Would you let Dean lose himself to the tiger if there was something you could do?"

 

"I'm not a witch."

 

"No, you're more powerful."

 

As is Rosalyn’s strange gift, no sooner does Sam find his emotional footing in the conversation than she unbalances him again.

 

"I doubt that," he counters.

 

"Think what you will, but there's a clear connection between you two. I read it in your face the first time you saw him."

 

"I never even spoke to him."

 

"And yet it was enough to convince you to take the stage, something you'd hesitated to do ever since Jacqueline told you that you were ready."

 

“How did you…?” Sam has no explanation for that so he changes the subject. "If you cannot leave them as animals, can you turn them fully human?"

 

"I wish it worked that way," she sighs and tosses her hair in the slight breeze. The sun has started to rise above the low tree line, illuminating Rosalyn's form and easing her natural darkness. "In this life, they'll never be fully free of the animal, and I cannot change that. I can only play my small part."

 

Sam doesn't know what to ask next; the world has turned upside down since he woke up yesterday and he reels with the new knowledge.

 

“Why am I involved? I almost – it feels like I never had a choice.”

 

“What Dean _is_ – his greater self – is not just what you see, Sam. He’s the product of whatever lives he’s lived before and he’s only vaguely aware that his former lives affect him. Of course, we can tell. That sense of inevitability you feel? I believe that your connection with Dean exists not just in this life, but in whatever lives came before.”

 

Sam can’t even begin to think of the consequences of that notion. Rosalyn waits patiently; it takes a few minutes before Sam finds his voice again.

 

“When you came here, did you know that Dean and I – that we -“

 

Seeing that Sam’s too shy to vocalize what he’s trying to say, Rosalyn finishes. “I could see how lonely you were, though you wouldn’t admit it, but I don’t think you could tell how lonely _Dean_ was. It’s a harsh life he’s been born into. When you met, when you came to his cage, I could see that there was something powerful happening, but no, I never imagined the connection you two have developed.”

 

It shouldn’t make him feel better, but the vice around his heart loosens knowing that he was not part of some elaborate scheme. He and Dean were meant to find each other, not merely be tools in Rosalyn’s machinations.

 

“You mustn’t tell anyone, Sam. This troupe only needs one magician.”

 

“No one would believe me.” 

 

Galen might; Sam can remember the old man’s stories from his youth. He spoke of witches and demons, creatures of the night that left Sam wide-eyed and sleeping close to Ben and Jackie. He had grown away from them, always thinking the tales were pure myth, not history. But he wouldn’t share Rosalyn’s – _Dean’s_ – secret, if only to protect Dean.

 

The sun’s fully above the horizon now; Sam has dallied far too long. He doesn’t want Dean to think the worst, remembering the resigned expression before he transformed.

 

“I need a chance to think.”

 

“Go to Dean,” she says, ready to return to the troupe as well. “I imagine he’s expecting you.”

 

_Nothing can stop me_ , he thinks. Rosalyn does not need to see his eagerness.

 

The walk back to the encampment is a blur. Sam and Rosalyn go their separate ways without another word. For all that’s happened already, the company is just beginning to stir while Sam’s limbs hang heavy with exhaustion. He passes through unnoticed; even Katie sleeps on when he steps into their trailer and washes the morning away. 

 

His best friend is sprawled messily on her bed, limbs flung in every direction and dead to the world. Sam doesn’t disturb her; he feels more than a twinge of guilt for his recent distraction. It would have been hard to miss the dark impressions shading beneath her eyes in the light of day or the sickly sweet odor of spilled ‘shine when she returns before dawn. After he sees Dean, Katie needs him.

 

There’s no trace of Rosalyn around her vehicles, only Dean pacing the length of his pen while the panther looks on. With Rosalyn’s imparted wisdom fresh in his mind, he can say the sleek, black cat looks _amused_. Dean pauses at the sight of Sam then resumes his impatient gait until Sam’s close enough to paw.

 

"Is this Jakob?" Dean nods, big head dropping against the bars. "You look like a Jakob."

 

The dark panther regards him for a moment, turning amber eyes on Dean as well, and stalks to the opposite end of the pen, giving them privacy.

 

"Thank you, Jakob.” Sam whispers. The idea that a few of Rosalyn’s creatures are as complex and wonderful as Dean sits heavy on his mind. Finally, Dean and Sam are alone once more.

 

Sam touches the cold pink of Dean's nose, up over the bony ridge to the first dark stripes around Dean's eyes, like the black kohl Sam adds nightly to his features.

 

"She told me everything she knew," he says while Dean's eyes are scrunched tightly in contentment. “I don’t think any less of you, Dean. You’re still mine.”

 

Dean’s large paw flexes over his hand. Yeah, he’s Dean’s as well.

Sam’s a fool, forgetting completely about Jackie until she corners him outside the galley that afternoon. He’s planning to bring Dean another treat since Katie’s still deep in her dreams, but his mother’s pointed stare stops him cold.

 

Without a word he knows to follow her. Sam mutters quick greetings to friends as he passes until they reach the Montgomery’s trailer, his childhood haven. It’s strange to watch Jackie pour them both a cup of strong, thick coffee while he knows she’s waiting to strike.

 

“Samuel.”

 

The coffee sticks in his throat and he coughs. "I know."

 

“Do you?”

 

“Weren’t you going to ask me about my distraction and absentmindedness?”

 

Jackie sighs, her elegant face marred by concern. “I never mind when you have your head in the clouds, my dear. That’s been part of your inexplicable charm since you were a boy.”

 

He swallows, the heavy roast sinking into his stomach and warming his gut. Jackie’s eyes are appraising; she’s always had a mother’s instinct, the uncanny ability to look beyond Sam’s deflections.

 

“You disappeared last night, just after your performance.”

 

“Did you like it?” He’d almost forgotten about the show. “I know it was short notice, but the applause was amazing!”

 

“This isn’t about the show, Samuel,” she begins, but then her face softens. “Although you and Katie were both wonderful. I’m so proud of you.”

 

He sips lazily at the coffee, slow slurps to avoid burning his tongue on the thick, bitter drink, but Jackie doesn’t let the calm settle.

 

“I saw you disappear with someone.”

 

There hasn’t been time for Sam to think of a way to cover Dean’s presence. As a human, Dean’s been seen. There’s no hiding or denying him. Sam can only continue to protect his secret.

 

“I don’t know who the man was, but you must be careful.” Jackie hisses the warning quietly - as if unseen ears may overhear – before Sam can account for Dean. "Taking up with strangers is more dangerous than you realize."

 

"He's not a stranger."

 

They may not share the same blood but Jackie's brow arches dramatically in a perfect mirror of Sam's favorite expression. "Then who is he?"

 

He scrambles to explain, and provide enough details to ease Jackie’s suspicion.

 

"I mentioned him before, we met in Fairlawn."

 

"The man you claimed was following the company?” She’s skeptical. “You said you didn't know him."

 

"His name is -"

 

"Samuel, you need to be careful!" She barely notices his protests; Dean is the last person he needs to fear.

 

"If you'd just listen, you'd see that there's nothing for me to be afraid of."

 

"I've been around this company much longer," she insists, brushing his comments aside. "You can bewitch people, as you already know. I've seen you do it. But once the enchantment fades, they'll be angry with you, Samuel. Desire will twist them and turn their intentions uglier than you can imagine."

 

"Jackie -"

 

The rant doesn't cease; Sam wonders if she's even speaking of him and Dean any longer. Her words are so far from the encouragement she offered Sam weeks ago, before he and Dean had come together, and he tries to determine what changed her view.

 

"You never realize the power you've acquired over someone, over your audience, until it's been warped. Love turns to obsession and those in your thrall become your enemies. They'll hate you with the same passion they loved you."

 

She draws a shaky breath, Sam's hand falling lightly on her wrist. His mother comes back to herself with a gasp.

 

"Jackie?"

 

"Promise me you'll be careful, Samuel."

 

“But I don’t understand.” Jackie’s concern has to be coming from _somewhere_ , Sam realizes. It _can’t_ just be about Dean – his mother barely knows the man.

 

“Just promise,” she sounds exasperated.

 

"I will." He doesn't know exactly what he's agreeing to.

 

Jackie seems satisfied with his response and grins kindly, as if she’s already forgotten the entire exchange. She leaves him a few minutes later, claiming a host of errands and tasks. The seasoned meat Sam had swiped for Dean, and the chop stew for himself go cold in his hands.


	4. Part IV

"I want to know everything about you."

 

"Right now?"

 

"Better start talkin', Sammy."

 

From where they're ensconced in Sam's trailer, Sam and Dean can hear the sounds from their last show in Dunham, carried through the open window. Taking advantage of Rosalyn's sympathy, they're granted another night of peace. Katie is at the show - she disappeared before Sam could speak with her - and Jackie is distracted. No one notices Sam sneaking away from the stage to where Dean waits with a grin.

 

"Where should I start?"

 

Dean is a line of warmth against his bare back, one arm pillowed beneath Sam's neck and their fingers are hooked together. Sam is surprised by Dean's willingness to be this gentle with him; he's no frail thing - taller than Dean and very capable - but his time with Dean has been like a whirlwind. It could easily be rough and forceful, or overpowering - though there may come a time for such actions - and Sam shows his appreciation by reacting to every touch, savoring the contact.

 

"Where else? At the beginning."

 

"The earth was born and the skies swirled with the storm of creation, then - _ah_!"

 

He's swiftly rolled onto his stomach. Dean bites the soft flesh at his nape and Sam laughs happily, the pressure much more teasing than painful. Laying half across Sam's shoulders, clothed lower halves tangled together, Dean's breath is hot in his ear.

 

"Fast forward a little bit."

 

And Sam talks, haltingly at first with bits and pieces of his remembered youth, then more assuredly while he retells memories from his first years with the company. Dean doesn't stop him or interrupt, just moves with him as Sam shifts every so often. By the time Sam gets to the days just before Dean's arrival, Dean has flopped onto his back and Sam rolled over him, pausing every few sentences to lay kisses across Dean’s breastbone, collar, and throat.

 

"Was that enough to satisfy you?" Sam asks when he can think of no more.

 

"I think you left out a few details," Dean smiles and Sam could easily become accustomed to that look – sincere and content. “But I’m _far_ from satisfied, Sammy.”

 

Sam gets dizzy when Dean sits up and flips them with a fast and agile movement. He bears down above Sam, shadows forming between them, and steals a kiss from his willing victim. Their lips meet in a second, more insistent kiss when Sam threads fingers through Dean’s fine hair and refuses to let go. The strands shine ginger in Sam’s hands under the light of the setting sun that slants between the blinds.

 

Sam is nearly breathless. “What can I do?”

 

Dean’s mouth covers Sam's and holds his arms motionless beside his shoulders. “Exactly what you’re doing _now_.”

 

“Getting pounced on?”

 

“Mmmm, no.” Plush lips tingle where they touch Sam’s face. “Being so eager, so _willing_." Dean's voiced thoughts mirror Sam's earlier ones. "It’s incredible that you’re this way with me after everything....”

 

Sam wants to deny the honest compliments but he can’t speak past the sudden blush that heats his cheeks and flushes down his neck. Instead he rolls with Dean and revels in such close contact. Their passion flares white-hot, only slightly tempered from the night before. There’s no need to rush and Sam’s comfortable with the idea of spending eternity wrapped up with Dean like this, spending his days and nights discovering intimate knowledge of body and mind.

 

Later, the two satisfied men lie together and Dean breaks the silence with a quiet suspicion. 

 

“Were you seriously unhappy before we met?”

 

He lets Sam sketch invisible patterns on his naked skin while Sam thinks.

 

“Until Rosalyn arrived, I never knew that there was anything wrong with me - never knew I was lonely or that there was a void in my heart. But I loved my life," Sam reassures when Dean frowns. "It was so far beyond my childhood dreams. I was so lucky to find Ben that day.” He sighs, face lowered to mouth at the stripes across the wings of Dean’s shoulders. “After Rosalyn said such horrible things, I could see my thoughts for what they were. I wasn’t unhappy before you came, Dean, but once I met you I recognized that part of my soul was empty.”

 

“And now?”

 

Sam grins. “Now, my soul is getting there.”

 

“I’m chicken soup for the soul,” Dean mutters humorously into his crossed arms, his body undulating like a gentle wave beneath Sam.

 

“Chicken soup?”

 

“It cures all ills, Sammy.”

 

He’s not sure if soup made from prairie fowl and vegetables would have the same effect, but Dean is the balm his soul was seeking.

 

So if Dean wants to be a man, the tiger, and _soup_ , Sam has no quarrel with that.

Dean escapes into the dim light of dawn only moments before Katie tramples into the trailer. Sam can see her through the opened partition as her shoulders sag.

 

“Welcome back, string bean.”

 

She doesn't seem surprised to find Sam already awake.

 

“You should have been there, Sam,” she yawns, shrugging out of her light coat and dropping onto the mattress. “The crowds in the halls were worshipping us after our last show.”

 

“If that's the kind of attention you're looking for.”

 

“Our shy, little Sam,” her voice sing-songs in mockery. “The villagers would have loved to see you tonight. A few even asked about you.”

 

That turns his stomach. Thanks to Dean’s successful distractions, Sam has been able to force those unsavory encounters and lewd comments from his mind.

 

“You're the social dazzler, Katie.”

 

She huffs and flops her arms on the coverings. “It’s all harmless fun, Sam. I’m wooing our patrons – if we’re sociable, they’ll love us even more. There’s no danger in garnering more fans.”

 

“Be careful.” His voice echoes Jackie’s strange concern, drawing from the brotherly affection he feels so strongly for Katie.

 

“No need to worry, Sam," she insists sleepily.

 

Katie sounds no more fazed than Sam had when he reassured Jackie less than a day before, but he can't suppress but think that his best friend is wrong. He doesn’t get the chance to say anything else; Katie starts snoring softly across the trailer and he leaves her to sleep.

The weather turns unseasonably cold when the company travels southward, keeping close to the spine of mid-continental mountain expanses. The cities here range in size and prestige. Some of the oldest settlements on the continent are carved into the earth at the base of these mountains.

 

In the small mining village of Beddin, Sam wakes to tousled sheets and the sight of Dean rummaging through one of his trunks in the dim light. He’s barely awake enough to feel Dean sit on the open end of his mattress, wrapped in dark green fabric that looks terribly familiar.

 

"Oh, this is _good_."

 

Dean's got his limbs curled up in Sam's warm, hooded jacket, rubbing his face against the soft weave and practically purring.

 

"I need that back, Dean."

 

"Nope, it's mine now, Sammy. Tough luck."

 

He pouts and tries to tug the material away, but Dean's stronger and his smile is smug when Sam gives up. Dean's kind enough to share the warmth of the jacket with Sam, pulling the material over his side when he cuddles up against Dean's bare chest. Their scents mix together in the plush fabric and they both inhale deeply, losing themselves once more to twining dreams.

 

Days later, the jacket ends up in Dean's cage and no one catches on except for Rosalyn. She winks at Sam but doesn't say a word. Sam scowls at the sight of his favorite jacket scrunched in the corner atop the fresh hay, reaching into the cage and bopping Dean lightly on the nose.

 

“You’re going to get it covered with hair,” he mutters. Dean rubs against his offending hand, forcing Sam to scratch behind the tiger’s ears. Marco, one of Rosalyn’s hands, laughs at the picture they’re making and Sam _knows_ that Jakob, lounging in the opposite corner, is amused as well; the tiger can bend even the toughest of men and beast to his favor. 

 

Sam’s annoyance floats away with the cat’s low, soothing rumble and Sam stays outside Dean’s cage until the skies turn dark and heavy with a twilight storm.

"Maybe I don't want to kiss you right now."

 

"Aw, why not, Sammy?"

 

"I've watched you clean. I know where your tongue has been, Dean."

 

Sam's lover pulls him close anyway, the two figures coming together on the deserted road.

 

"Dean!" It's of no use pushing Dean away; the resistance is for show. "I can't believe you."

 

"Shut up and kiss me, Sammy."

 

Dean's hand at his back is a tether; it reels him into Dean's arms and into a heated kiss. The tongue he jokingly protested licks across Sam's lips and into his mouth. The supple muscle meets with his own tongue, slicking over his taste buds. He can taste the flavor of the sweet syrupy ice they'd shared earlier on the midway before leaving the camp.

 

There's no one around to break the moment - the majority of the troupe has already walked the short road into Beddin for a final night of celebration. Sam and Dean lingered, stopping for kisses like this. They’re still unable to resist each other even after weeks of being together.

 

"Was that so bad?" Dean lays another kiss to the quirked corner of Sam's smile.

 

"Just don't do it again," he says without heat, sidling up against Dean as their feet scuff along the rough road.

 

The innocence of their gestures suits Sam. Dean's been his guide, happy to show Sam the ways his body can bend to Dean's touch and fold in pleasure. Most nights, their explorations leave Sam gasping and fulfilled with Dean panting through his own satisfaction. 

 

There's more - _always_ more – for Sam to crave, knowing he hasn't been introduced to everything. The intensity in Dean's eyes is unmistakable when they're alone. Sam wants to give in to that heat, be swept away, but their moments together have been fewer since leaving Dunham. Both have obligations to the troupe and Dean’s ever a prisoner to Rosalyn’s magic.

 

But perhaps tonight...

 

"Can't we go back? The camp will be empty and we can -"

 

"You promised Katie," Dean's foot sends a stone flicking haphazardly over the pocked pavement. "I heard you, and she'll hold you to it even if she has to come back and drag your ass to Beddin."

 

Sam sighs. A hand settles around his wrist.

 

There's a smirk on Dean's face. "But we can walk really slowly."

 

The hall is crowded when they finally arrive. Katie launches herself at Sam, one arm flailed out to rope Dean into the hug.

 

"I didn't think you were coming!" Her shriek thrums against Sam's eardrum, but he grins.

 

"Got a late start out, had some things to finish."

 

"I'm sure you did," her hand waves off his excuse as if it’s irrelevant. "Who's this?"

 

He turns affectionate eyes on his lover. "This is Dean, remember? We met -"

 

"Right!" She bounces on tip-toes then embraces Dean like a lost friend. "From Fairlawn. You made poor Sam drop all of his posters, he was so flustered."

 

"I wasn't -"

 

"I remember," Dean's exclamation cuts him off, playing into Katie's mirth. "His face was bright red when he asked me to come to your show."

 

"And you finally must have, if you're here!" Katie claps uncoordinatedly, and then stops. "Wait, you're _here_! How are you here? We're a long way from Fairlawn..."

 

Thankfully, his best friend has the attention of a gnat in a place like this and she loses her focus the moment a deep voice calls her name. Even while he's saved from any awkward explanations, Katie proceeds to drag him around the hall; it's a humorous sight - such a tall man led by the whims of the small woman who acts larger than life.

 

Sam can always feel Dean at his side, comfort within reach. His lover's smile is bright when he watches the spectacle Sam and Katie are making. 

 

There are many recognizable faces around the hall. Rique's crewmen ring around the sturdy bar top, toasting whatever occasion comes to mind and Sam spots Emanuel, stooped over from the low ceiling. Sam sees enough to know that Jakob is absent – the quiet man prefers to solitude of a mostly deserted camp on nights like this.

 

Greetings are traded happily and 'shine is passed around like it's suddenly on the house. Eventually Katie loosens her claws and Sam can escape to the corner where Dean already waits, guarding an empty stool which he offers to Sam. 

 

They both lose track of the hours watching the revelry. Sam's grateful for the stool and pulls Dean back between his legs, earning himself a chin rest. Dean doesn't mind - his lover just settles back and watches the myriad of faces along with him, commenting with snark and good humor every few minutes. With Dean as his guardian, a handsome sentinel between him and the crowds, Sam feels more secure than ever and finally relaxes.

 

When they leave, Sam's unable to convince Katie to join them. There are many familiar faces scattered about the room so he's willing to let her stay. He wasn't particularly looking forward to carrying her - likely kicking and cursing - back to the camp. Instead, it's Sam and Dean alone on the road once more, dawdling and drifting ever closer while they walk.

 

Rosalyn's personal caravan is parked far away from the other trailers and Dean leads Sam there, pulling fresh hay and blankets from the stores to create a bed from nothing. The night is surprisingly mild and Sam sheds his jacket before he drops down onto the makeshift bed. 

 

Their passion flares quickly. Being so close for hours tonight without release already has Sam on edge, and he quickly comes to his first, explosive climax in Dean’s mouth. Then his entire body becomes a tool for Dean’s stimulation. Dean ruts smoothly between Sam’s thighs, biting into soft skin to taste their mingled sweat, and sweeping hands along every inch of exposed flesh. Dean hooks one of Sam’s legs up to his waist, a tight crease around his erection that pushes Dean over the edge while he pants harshly into Sam’s ear.

 

Savoring the tang of sweat along Dean’s throat, Sam waits until they both catch their breath. Spread out on the blanket, Sam arranges a very pliable Dean so that their faces remain close.

 

“I want to know everything about you, too,” he whispers.

 

Dean’s been happy listening to Sam’s tales and consequently avoiding having to share his own story. Since that awkward morning, they’ve barely spoken of Rosalyn’s confession. The subject is one of the few strains Sam can feel between them.

 

“You know it all.”

 

“Not from you.”

 

He feels pressure on his arm when Dean tries to roll away. “Do I need to repeat it?”

 

“That’s not what I meant.” Dean can separate them as much as he wants on the makeshift mattress – Sam will still reach him. “I want to know how you feel about it, about everything. A burden like yours doesn’t sit lightly.”

 

“Sammy – “

 

“It doesn’t have to be now, or soon. There’s just so much I can’t understand and I don’t want to be forced to seek Rosalyn’s counsel for answers.”

 

The silence stretches long enough for Sam to believe Dean’s drifted off. But his hesitant voice eventually carries back to Sam.

 

“Where do you want me to start?”

 

“Start whenever you-“

 

“No, Sammy. Just ask me something I can answer.”

 

He edges forward in the hopes that it will bolster Dean, but keeps his hands to himself. “Do you remember changing for the first time?”

 

“I don’t remember Rosalyn finding me. I do – there’s a sensation of waking up, like from a long, deep dream and she was there. It was the weirdest feeling. I remembered being the animal but I _knew_ how to be me, too.”

 

Dean pushes back against him, uncharacteristically dependent, and Sam wraps one long arm over his torso.

 

“And that’s when she first told you what you are?”

 

“Rosie’s told me over and over what I was – what I am,” Dean threads their fingers, pulses beating in time. “But it never _connected_ until I saw you.”

 

His lover doesn’t notice Sam’s breath hitching. He nearly has to force himself to exhale.

 

“That’s when I felt the first tug of memories trying to get loose.”

 

“You can see pieces of another life?”

 

Sam watches the back of Dean’s neck as he tries to shake his head. “There’s nothing but vague feelings. I know my life wasn’t complete, and not because Rosalyn tells me that.”

 

“Were you alone?”

 

“Maybe not, I don’t know. Something was missing – a person, a purpose?”

 

“And you can’t remember?”

 

He can feel the sigh, Dean’s chest expanding beneath his arm and slowly releasing. “She asks me that too, always wondering if I finally dreamed something worth telling her. That’s when it happens, you know? I have such vivid dreams, even when I’m the tiger.”

 

Dean’s tone borders on despair and Sam starts to regret his insistence.

 

“I used to think it was better that I couldn’t remember anything.”

 

“Why ‘used to’?”

 

Suddenly Dean’s facing him, vibrant eyes studying Sam so thoroughly. “I told you once that you seemed familiar, Sammy. It’s like a curse – I’d give anything to remember you, but everything I dream fades so quickly.”

 

He stutters a breath as Dean’s nose skims softly across his cheekbone, along his jaw – a sensual and simple touch. 

 

“You don’t need the disjointed memories, Dean.”

 

Eyelids raise and Sam can nearly see himself reflected in the dark green irises. 

 

“You have me right here.”

 

The start of a protest dies on Dean’s lips when Sam surges against him. Despair is healed, reassurance given in touch rather than unnecessary words, and both men are lost in the storm of each other once more.

There’s a good crowd tonight – the atmosphere in the camp is light and cheerful, spreading from performers to patrons. They’ve stopped for a single show in the small establishment of Ryder before moving further into the canyon lands come sunrise.

 

Sam and Katie are already finished – they left the stage after a comedic routine to the mixed sounds of cheers and laughter. They mingle with the audience as the crowd awaits the final act: The Amazing Rosalyn and her Menagerie. Sam’s eager to watch Dean, no longer anxious with the press of strangers around him. It’s worth it to see his bold tiger on stage.

 

Rosalyn has altered her act to better fit the jovial atmosphere. She forgoes elaborate setups and focuses on light, simple tricks from her animals. Jakob is acting more like Dean than his usual, reserved feline-self. The pair of large cats torments their trainer in all sorts of ways, earning chuckles from those gathered to watch. 

 

Sam gets caught up in the absurdity and laughs along with the audience, cheering loudly after each new trick. He’s a little startled when the people around him start nudging him towards the stage and he looks up to see Rosalyn gesturing for him to join her. Still in his costume, Sam ascends the stairs nervously and their patrons for once are hushed as they watch the tiger stalk around the tall man. Dean’s toying with him; Sam doesn’t feel a lick of fear when the large animal snarls and growls for show, but he keeps his face schooled for the charade. Flashing a big, goofy smile would certainly ruin the effect.

 

Regardless, the game’s up soon enough. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd when Dean rears up, massive front paws settling hard on Sam’s shoulders, but the astonishment quickly turns to laughter when the tiger starts licking Sam’s face, long swipes of sandpaper tongue completely wrecking what make-up Sam wore. 

 

Dean’s heavy but Sam doesn’t mind. He never imagined getting affectionately mauled by Dean on stage for dozens of people to witness, but he smiles through it all, chuckling when Dean’s long whiskers tickle his cheeks.

 

Rosalyn laughs brightly with everyone else until Sam steps down from the stage.

Sam watches the sun rise the next morning and blocks out the noise of the caravans being packed up. He thinks briefly about traveling with his parents today – Ben’s eager to catch up with his son and hopefully Jackie won’t continue to be tight-lipped and disapproving around Sam – but he just waits, savoring the last few hours in Ryder, watching the hustle and bustle of the company.

 

Light footsteps behind him give him warning before Rosalyn appears at his side. Her long hair is drawn back from her face with elaborately woven clips, the strands too dark for even the sunlight to reflect. Perhaps it’s a coincidence, finding him here, but to Sam nothing Rosalyn does ever feels less than intentional.

 

And so his smile is forced. “I was just about to go and help my parents.”

 

“Stay a while, Sam.”

 

He does. From their vantage point, workers and performers scatter around the camp making their preparations to leave.

 

“Has Dean told you everything?”

 

“That’s no business of yours.”

 

“Maybe not.” 

 

Sam doesn’t look over to see if she’s smiling. He doesn’t want to feel this way – as if Rosalyn’s an inevitable part of his relationship with Dean. From what he knows, there’s no way for Dean to separate himself from her influence; the knowledge definitely makes him bitter.

 

As usual, Rosalyn takes no notice of Sam’s irritation. “I hope you’ve gotten a chance to ask Dean about his gift, Sam.”

 

“His _gift_?”

 

“You don’t see it that way?” Her surprise strikes Sam as genuine, but the quirk of her mouth suggests otherwise. “Dean will get the chance to live again – his story goes on.”

 

“And when does it end, Rosalyn?” He hisses, drawing closer. “When does the cycle of cheated destiny and half-lives finally finish?”

 

She’s taken aback but gathers herself quickly. “That’s obvious, Sam. For the cycle to end he has to travel the path that was chosen for him.”

 

Sam laughs harshly. “You don’t know.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You have no idea what Dean’s past involved, or what his future might hold. What is your purpose if not to help him?”

 

“I _am_ helping him!” Her insistence carries, loud and biting. “I’m just a guardian but I still play a role, as you do.”

 

“And what’s my role?”

 

“I don’t know that either,” she responds and Sam huffs with displeasure. “But wherever Dean’s path leads, you’re a part of it. Whether in this life or the next.”

 

Sam’s mind whirls trying to find an appropriate response, but there _is_ none, so he laughs bitterly.

 

“Cryptic and useless, Rosalyn. That’s all you can tell me?”

 

“I can’t divine answers from nothing, Sam,” her voice lowers and Sam thinks for a moment that’s she’s even more frightening and gorgeous in her anger. “I know no more than this - Dean was touched by something powerful to leave him this way. It’s rare for a soul to be trapped like this – not every poor human with a task left unfulfilled ends up like Dean. A greater influence, good or evil, made a mark upon his soul.”

 

She spins away from him then, whether fleeing the interrogation or taking advantage of Sam’s momentary stupor. He is rooted to the spot, processing the new information until the bells began to sound.

 

_A greater influence, good or evil, made a mark upon his soul._

 

The words swirl in Sam’s head during the day's journey. When the caravan stops for the night, Sam pushes the troubling thoughts away and meets Dean beneath the dark and cloudless sky.

Dean thinks differently than Sam, and Sam wonders – not for the first time, not for the hundredth – what type of world was Dean’s. He dares not ask again, knowing well that Dean cannot remember, but his lover unknowingly carries echoes of that former life with him.

 

They’ve stolen away for the morning while the troupe still sleeps, most recovering from the festivities of the night before, thrown as their welcome to the small, Eastern city of Laurel Chalice, and Sam isn't willing to lose his Dean yet. So he drags Dean away before Rosalyn can discover them, out to an open plateau overlooking Laurel's shallow canyons under the deep golden sunrise.

 

“The sky matches your eyes.”

 

Dean’s gaze switches between the cloudless expanse above and Sam’s face beside.

 

“I think it’s the other way around.” Sam’s still sleepy, closing his eyes and shifting further into the angle of Dean's body.

 

“No.”

 

“The sky was there first.”

 

In the quiet pause that follows, Sam can hear the light breeze combing through the dry grass and distant flocks of birds calling to one another.

 

“Maybe you came before the sky.”

 

Said in such a way, with such simple honesty, Sam can't help but think that Dean could be right.

The troupe, now back on the western side of the mountains, is granted a few days of rest before the first engagement in Dorado. Performers and laborers all splinter in various directions, eager to break the routine of travel. Some wander to the village while others will not be roused from their feather-beds. Sam follows Rosalyn and her animals away from the caravan despite Katie's best attempts to sway him into spending the day with her.

 

No one bats an eyelash as they pass through the camp and out into the fields. Rosalyn leads the horses and the tiger away from the company; her idiosyncrasies are accepted merely as one facet of her ability.

 

When Sam catches up, the witch smiles and hands Dean's lead over to Sam. As soon as he unhitches the rope, the tiger pounces on Sam playfully. Sam receives a friendly chuff for a greeting and Dean’s sharp claws are held in check while he swipes at Sam's legs and pushes his human along. 

 

He futilely wishes he could free Dean, banish cage and chain to let Dean roam across the lands, with Sam always by his side. But he lacks Rosalyn’s abilities; he has no way to pull Dean from his eternal enchantment - his infinite _punishment_. And Rosalyn’s cryptic words return to him: _'without a guide, they are nothing more than beasts let loose upon the world'_. More than anything Sam wants to hold fast to both incarnations of Dean – the human and the beast. Cling to the animal who brightens his days and makes him laugh like no other, and cherish the man who bewitches his nights, who moves with his body and beats inside his heart.

 

Rosalyn keeps to one end of their open field, preparing a fresh act with Emanuel and two of the troupe's other steeds. Sam and Dean sit largely ignored a distance away, focusing only on each other until the sun begins to set and the hour calls the younger man back to his obligations.

 

Sam stands but cannot move far, held back by a gentle tug at his shirt. Dean's teeth are clamped in the soft cotton, his shoulders set and unyielding. It's Dean's way of saying _I'm not finished with you yet, get back here!_

 

"Five more minutes, then I have to leave."

 

He settles back on the grass with the tiger alongside. Dean tilts his head and lifts one cautious paw to rest on Sam's calf.

 

"Fine, ten."

 

The tiger flops down over his legs and Sam feels the vibrations from the big feline's deep breathing. He sinks his fingers into the soft fur at Dean's neck, completely at the tiger's whim and not really minding one bit.

When the first cap bursts over the tent, there's a collective 'ahhh' from the gathered company members. The sky above Antigone is clear and dark, stars visible, and it's a perfect backdrop for the low showers of colored sparks.

 

Sam laughs along with his friends and family when the next firecap - ' _firecrackers, Sammy'_ \- explodes overhead. It's a night for celebrating and letting cares drift away, and everyone is taking advantage of the break. When Ben took over management of the troupe decades ago, his first show was held on these very fields. Antigone hasn't changed much in the years, still a small village center with farms fanned out in every direction like spokes around a wheel. Whenever the company passes through, Ben and Jackie stop for a party like this; the occasions are some of Sam's happiest memories.

 

And Dean's with him now, standing across the food-heavy table; Anna and David, along with the other cooks, have outdone themselves. Dean is listening to Galen and Dustin sing drunkenly over the noise of the caps. The older men's arms are clasped together and there's a bright smile splitting Dean's face while he watches them. Sam has a sudden flash of his future - coming back here with Dean time and time again as the years pass. It's a comfortable thought despite the complications. The troupe would keep Dean's secret. They already accept him as a man and the performers' loyalty to one another is unquestionable. In more than one way, Dean is as much a part of the ensemble as Rosalyn or Sam. He and Dean would be safe, and that would be enough.

 

Later, with the sounds of the last few caps sparking and crackling outside, Sam looks at Dean. The other man's sleeping soundly, face pressed into the soft down pillow.

 

Sam's exhausted but he forces sleep away for a few more minutes so he can look at Dean. His thoughts race, and in that moment he doesn't care what he has to go through to keep Dean, to grow old with him and travel across the territories until they can journey no more. And that realization brings a resolution to banish doubts and hesitation. Strike forever Dean's _I-don't-get-to-have-this_ and questions of self worth, along with Sam's suspicion and worry.

 

He curls closer to Dean until there's no space between them, and falls asleep as the final colored flashes shine through the blinds.


	5. Part V

The moon rises low and full, a gauzy red orb hanging large in the sky from the tilt of the earth - a true Hunter's Moon. And tonight, Sam is the prey.

 

He feels the lust in his veins, kindled by his earlier performance. As it was the first time, Sam's every move on stage was for Dean. But he'd thrown something extra into the act: an exaggerated arch of his neck, a lower dip with straining muscles, his lips parted and wet from a flash of Sam's tongue. He hopes it was enough to drive Dean crazy.

 

Because Sam isn't going to let Dean temper their passion tonight.

 

The camp is quiet when he sneaks away, destined for an open glen, but he's alone when he gets there. The silence of the night surrounds him while he sets out blankets and spare clothes, yet there's something tangible in the air. He knows there is a hunter for every prey and Sam’s lurks somewhere in the low, dark scrub.

 

His muscles are tensed with anticipation of the strike. Sam expects no warning and is granted none when the strong figure crashes into him and he loses his footing quickly. Dean’s reflexes are honed and sharp, and he catches Sam before he can fall to the earth. 

 

Full lips slide over Sam's as he’s borne to the ground. The heat generated by his performance has dissipated somewhat but another warmth rises up; the two men come together tenderly despite Dean’s attack moments ago.

 

Sam allows the affectionate kisses to continue for a time - Dean's rhythm slow and undemanding. But Sam wants more and he arches into Dean, trying to convey his intentions.

 

There's a gasp when Dean pulls back to stare down at him. Sam prevents him from moving far, keeps their bodies aligned and rocking together. The glen is his new stage and Sam uses every sensuous move he's been taught to tell Dean he's ready.

 

He can watch the reactions shine one after the other in Dean's eyes. First there is _surprise_ when Sam grips Dean's arms, holding tight to muscle, and throws his head back. It leaves his throat exposed – skin ripe for Dean’s lips. Then _enthralled_ as Sam’s hand travels to fit along Dean’s jaw and bring them close for a wet meeting of tongues in the space between their mouths. Dean pulls back and Sam’s tongue catches beneath his chin, extending snake-like to savor and Sam finally sees _lust_ flare in the green eyes. It’s quickly replaced by reverence while Dean slowly undresses Sam.

 

Bared to touch, Sam tries to shift the pace, frantically pushing the shirt from Dean’s shoulders and grasping Dean’s narrow waist. The denims hang low on his lover’s hips, rough fabric pressing into Sam’s sensitive skin and he eagerly shoves the pants away until Dean’s fully exposed.

 

Sam can’t hold back and he wants the same from Dean, craves the assertion and mastery Dean possesses. He needs firm hands to caress and bend his body, letting Dean stake his claim.

 

Strangely, Dean shies away from the dominance Sam’s trying to incite, attempts to gentle their coupling.

 

Sam turns his head away and Dean’s next kiss lands on his cheek.

 

“Dean…”

 

“What’s wrong, Sammy?” Soothing and quiet. “We can stop.”

 

Words will get them nowhere on this night and Sam flips them faster than a blink, exposing his naked back to the hazy moon and laying Dean out beneath him.

 

_We’re not stopping._

 

His eyes speak in lieu of words; Dean’s pupils darken. Kneeling above Dean, Sam doesn’t know where to begin. It’s a powerful, heady rush, but he can't ignore his desires. He can use this to whittle away at Dean’s restraint until his lover’s ready to snap and claim Sam. He wants to feel the both the desire of the man and the primal hunger of the animal he knows rests within Dean’s heart.

 

He begins with light strokes. From Dean's knee up along the outer thigh, sparse hair tickling them both. Sam smoothes hands over Dean's taut stomach, fingers catching in grooves and shallows to soothe trembles. Fingers settle on Dean's throat, the softest skin Sam’s found along the jugular. Lips touch lips, ghosting across in a breath-taking tease that leaves Sam smug and Dean in pieces.

 

Instead of giving in to that kiss, Sam’s lips return to Dean’s neck, making a meal of the cording and muscle there. Licking, sucking, straining – bodies undulating as sensations travel lower and instinct masters both of them. Sam puts his own mark on Dean, between the black stripes with which fate has adorned him. Where neck meets shoulder, Sam kisses over the reddened skin and sets a similar mark on the opposite side.

 

But it’s when he lets his teeth close around the erratic pulse in Dean’s neck that his lover surges. His control splinters and he bucks beneath Sam, dislodging him and pushing him flat on the blanket.

 

A throaty warning – _'you’re playing with fire, Sammy'_ – is all he gets before the passionate assault commences and Sam’s every sense is struck dumb by Dean’s prowess. Sam’s mouth isn’t kissed – it’s _taken_. They aren’t twining together, they’re grappling and Sam willingly submits to Dean’s firm, arousing grip. Every touch is intentional, meant to make them wild.

 

“Need you, Sammy,” Dean groans desperately when his teeth let loose from Sam’s shoulder. “Never needed _anything_ like this.”

 

Sam nearly chokes on another moan when those teeth mark his chest, sinking into the muscle over his breast.

 

“You’re mine,” he can hear over the waves of pleasure ringing in his head. “I’ve always known it and now – “

 

“Now show me,” Sam pants.

 

For a split second Sam can see the tiger rise in Dean’s eyes before the vision disappears. But the primal drive remains and Sam forgets everything else. His legs are clutching Dean’s hips, sliding with the sheen of sweat but it eases the way between them.

 

Soon Sam’s flipped onto his stomach with Dean looming over him. When he twists his neck to look back, Dean’s features are cast in shadow but his form is outlined by the moon’s light. Like this, Sam realizes he’s being claimed – fully as a lover by Dean and as a mate by the animal within him.

 

“Don’t think I can wait, Sammy.” Sam can feel the truth behind that – Dean’s thick and hot between his legs, rubbing against him provocatively, making Sam ache with a surprising need. He writhes in response, his body telling Dean that there’s no reason to wait any longer.

 

“I need – “ Dean’s cut off when Sam indicates the bag he brought, the one he’d blushed while packing, throwing in the packets of slick gel Katie had handed over with a smirk and a very unladylike giggle.

 

“It’ll be good, Sammy, I promise,” and Sam never thought it could be anything but. Not with the adoration inherent in each caress, whether gentle or demanding.

 

On his side, Dean fitting solid and snug behind him, Sam experiences new and astounding sensations. Dean holds him through the expected pain, soothing with whispered words even as he breaches Sam’s tight body.

 

When their rhythm ceases to falter - riding smooth and possessive - Dean’s mouth latches onto his neck and shoulder. He muffles cries and leaves shallow bites in Sam’s flesh. Sam’s legs are split wide and the strain from stretched muscles only increases his pleasure. Dean’s hand over his stomach holds them together as the rapture finally peaks for Sam and he spills onto the blanket beneath.

 

Worn down and shaking, he’s pushed to his stomach once more and Dean ruts into him, obliterating every nerve that still carries sensation. Sam tries to push back, wants to connect them even more, but his body is of little use. Dean cries out into the night as he comes within Sam, the feeling unlike anything Sam’s experienced.

 

_Finally, I am whole._

 

There’s a burn when Dean slides out, quickly alleviated as Sam lies boneless in Dean’s arms. He’s petted and soothed and he clutches Dean in turn while the ardor abates and leaves them content to lie quietly.

 

Dean falls asleep in minutes for a well earned respite but Sam lingers in a state of half-awake. He’s allowed to look at Dean unencumbered, tracing his body with eyes and light touches so as not to wake Dean.

 

Sam longs to be a painter - one of the great old virtuosos - if only to possess the talent needed to capture Dean's beauty on canvas. Or to be a photographer - a master of form and light - able to immortalize the lines of Dean's body in perfect replica.

 

But as he is - just Sam - he can have _this_. He's permitted to run his fingers along those darkened stripes while Dean sleeps on, oblivious; no one stops him from smoothing along strong curves and sinew, the measure of the most perfect being he's ever known. He doesn’t need a portrait or painting to remember his lover’s form; every detail was committed to memory on that first night, never to be forgotten.

 

He does not know now what a curse that memory will become.

The sun rises and sets; the Earth spins and the seasons change. The Montgomery troupe crosses the continent - back, forth, and back again, bringing their talents and wonder to each welcoming territory.

 

Sam and Dean weather the passing of time with hardly a hitch. Their days together are innocent and full of life, a friendship more true than any Sam’s known save one. When the night falls, they transform into passionate lovers, easily roused and complementary. There are still mysteries left unexplored in Dean’s memory, but their eyes are turned more to the future they can see before them.

 

He even comes to enjoy the company of Rosalyn's other performers. Jakob's quick wit and biting humor endears him to Sam, so similar in temperament to Dean. Emanuel, too, for his gentle nature and kind disposition. They've been Dean's companions for years and so have a place in Sam's heart.

 

The company flourishes, making a triumphant and heralded return to the Western cities before swinging to the South and visiting the line of villages and substantial towns that form the southern borders.

 

When summer begins to warm the continent again, they make their way towards the Northern provinces where the breezes are cool and the cities welcoming. Throughout their travel, Sam settles comfortably into a life with Dean. Only Rosalyn knows the true nature of things. To everyone else, Dean is a good-natured follower of the show, completely enamored of Sam.

 

Katie is the only blemish, and Sam _tries_. Believing it'll help, he cuts the number of their performances, but it's of no use. She wavers between the bright spirit he's always known and a soul more ravaged with every late night - every celebration where the supply of 'shine and fawning men are never-ending. Distractions don't work and eventually Katie loses her temper at Sam's interference.

 

"Just don't go into town tonight. Stay here, string bean."

 

"Why, Sam? So I can be dazzled by your love for Dean?"

 

"We don't -"

 

"Oh," she huffs. "You do."

 

Sam's in love, but he never thought they were obnoxious.

 

"Be care-"

 

"I know Sam, be careful," she twirls a strand of hair, blonde again, around her finger. "You tell me every night. But you," she hisses, "you are sneaking off with Dean all the time! How can you be cross with my behavior?"

 

There's no arguing. The same defensiveness came from him when Jackie warned him about Dean. Afraid he was overreacting, Sam backs off after that, but keeps a wary eye on Katie, unwilling to let it go completely.

 

"Do you want me to keep out of sight for a while? It might give you time to get through to her." Dean suggests one night as they lie in Sam's trailer, no sign of his best friend. "I could talk to Rosie, she'd understand."

 

Sam shakes his head, unable to move more than that. Partially because he's exhausted and still reeling from being taken and possessing Dean in turn, and the fact that Dean's still laying stretched out on Sam's back.

 

"You sure, Sammy?" The words are nuzzled into the back of his neck, Dean too comfortable to shift away. "Don't need a break from me or anything?"

 

It's the only thing Sam is sure of these days. His life and Dean's are interwoven, inseparable.

 

"I'll let you know when I get sick of you," he jokes, the sounds mostly muffled by the sheets beneath.

 

"You do that," Dean yawns, going quiet as he falls asleep. 

 

Sam's still awake when Dean slides off in the middle of the night; his lover ends up curled next to him, not noticing that Sam never sleeps to dream.

An inexplicable heatwave greets the company in Prestiage; like a maddening shroud, it sets everyone on edge.

 

The animals pace and whine in their enclosures. Sam and Dean can hear the horses while they walk in the humid night.

 

"Ben's cancelled tomorrow's show."

 

"'Cause of the heat?"

 

"He doesn't like how it's affecting everyone," Sam remarks. "You saw the crowds these last two nights."

 

Dean's hand squeezes around his, remembering. The audience had been as restless as the performers, a rough combination of high-running emotions and nerves. The individual acts were applauded, but once the entertainers stepped from the stage, their patrons took liberties, behaving as if drunk on heat and ale.

 

"It's probably for the best, then."

 

Reaching his trailer, Sam's disappointed, though hardly surprised, to find Katie missing.

 

"She must have gone into the city."

 

Sam groans, agreeing. "I have to go get her, Dean. I don't think she knows we're leaving in the morning."

 

"No way are you going alone, Sammy."

 

"I'll be quick," he attempts to argue. "She can't sway me into staying out."

 

"You don't have a choice. I'm coming with you."

 

Secretly relieved, his hand is retaken and Dean leads them to the main gate where Ben works to fold banners and signs. He waves to the pair.

 

"Off for our wayward daughter, Sam?"

 

"We'll be back soon, Mr. Montgomery," Dean answers with a wide smile for Sam's father. Like everyone else, Ben had been charmed quickly by Sam's lover. Dean could enchant well as both human _and_ animal.

 

They don't linger on the road, no lover's stroll to enjoy each other as they've done so often. Sam keeps a rapid pace, eager to return and fall into his bed with Dean, already drained from their brief stay in Prestiage.

 

It's not difficult to find Sam's best friend; the hall is the loudest, set near the riverbank with lights ablaze and music spilling into the street and alleys. Inside, it's a rowdy scene but Sam feels calm with Dean solid at his back. They're deep into the crowd when Sam finally spots Katie.

 

She's back on the opposite side near another exit, pulled close to a larger man. The last thing Sam wants to do is come between Katie and an admirer, and draw wrath from both. But his friend's movements are strange and jerking - something's out of place. He cannot hear what's being said from his place across the room, and it's a moment before he can place the expression she wears.

 

_Fear._

 

"Katie!"

 

Sam pulls away from Dean and pushes towards her. He can see the blonde's eyes are barely focused but she's doing her best to loosen the burly stranger's hold. Before he can reach her, Sam watches the man grasp Katie's small wrist and pull, forcing her off the stool and sending her tumbling to the ground. He's horrified, moving faster, when the man strikes her hard and a trickle of blood blooms on her temple. The stranger reels back but Sam steps between them quickly and catches the fist instead.

 

"Sam!"

 

He can't tell who cries out - Katie or Dean. One's close and the other fights his way through the crowd, shoving onlookers aside as if they are insubstantial.

 

The man, face twisted hideously with anger and rising as tall as Sam, steps closer to where Sam's clutching his jaw and standing protectively between the stranger and Katie. 

 

"I don't think you ought to be interfering, boy!"

 

"Stay away from her," he threatens harshly, aware of the crowd that watches and the men who gather around the stranger.

 

"She ain't worth protecting," the man snarls, lips twisting cruelly. Sam's assaulted by the man's stench - alcohol and malice. "Got those eyes that promise _everything_ to a man. She owes us for the favor we've been paying her all night!"

 

"I said, get away!" 

 

"Not 'til I get what I _want_ , boy." The man's voice drops to a sadistic hiss.

 

"Lay another hand on her, and you'll get _something_ ," Sam growls back, eyes flashing. "I promise." 

 

"You her keeper, or something?"

 

Katie moans behind him, gripping Sam's leg for support, and he cannot respond. Breaking eye contact with the man, he turns to her, fearing the dazed look on her face and the obvious trauma. From the corner of his eye he sees the stranger move, pulling a blade from his jacket and advancing on Sam. Crouched low, there's no chance for Sam to spin away from the hunting knife wielded in such a rage.

 

As Sam moves to protect his best friend, Dean acts without thought in order to protect his lover. It happens too fast - there's no time to stop Dean and a cry of warning sticks in Sam's throat. 

 

The knife slides too easily into Dean's chest, as if it cuts through nothing denser than ripe fruit. Dean's momentum halts for that instant before he falls back, straight into Sam's arms.

 

"No!" It's Katie regaining her senses and pushing the bystanders away. The hall explodes with noise - shouts and cries, then quickly empties as every witness flees from the scene.

 

Realizing what he's done, the stranger staggers back and trips into a table, going down hard. Sam pays him no heed, eyes and hands on Dean's chest, trying to staunch the flow of red that spills onto the rough-hewn planking.

 

"Dean!" Katie leans close, eyes frantic. "Can you hear us?"

 

His lover blinks and tries to draw a deep breath. Sam can feel Dean gasping for air, rattling through the blood in his throat, and heedless of the knife, Sam pulls Dean through the side door and into the heavy night.

 

"Dean - Dean... _Dean!_ " he can't stop the repetitions, numb with shock. Katie falls down beside them, jacket pulled off quickly to press against the wound.

 

"You 'kay, Sammy?" Dean manages to sputter, expirations of red liquid on his lips and chin.

 

"Dean. Dean. Dean, _no_!" Sam wheezes, breath hard to find. "Not like this!"

 

"You - you'll be there, Sammy, right?" Dean coughs and Sam wipes the blood away from his lover's mouth. He's helpless and small, watching Dean's green eyes fade and cloud, feeling like he too is dying in that moment.

 

Dean's last, horrific breath sounds like _Sammy_ , and then there's nothing.

Dean is buried on a high, sun-washed plateau far past the borders of Prestiage.

 

Sam doesn't leave the grave for two days. He falls to his knees beside the freshly turned earth and remains through sympathy, concern, and prodding. The sun cycles and returns to find him crouching low, his tears staining the dry grass.

 

When those who'd come to the small, silent memorial have gone, only two remain as sentinels. Emanuel first, his dark face somber and his shoulders sagging. After that, it's Jakob, small and quiet, who never takes his keen eyes off Sam's motionless figure.

 

As the sun sets on the second day, his guardians follow when Sam straightens and leaves. They are silent shadows when he stumbles into the camp, oblivious to the stares and whispers, and collapses on the grass next to Dean's empty cage.

 

Gripping the bars, his blurry eyes search in vain for the tiger, the only source of comfort he wants.

 

It doesn't come, and Sam sobs until he falls back onto the ground, finally unconscious.

Either the ground moves beneath him or Sam's been carried to a trailer. His eyes crack open to see dusty rose curtains; he's in his parents' trailer. Every part of his body aches, none more than his heart, and he groans painfully when he attempts to shift.

 

Jackie's at his side, asking questions and muttering; all of it falls on deaf ears.

 

"Where are we?" He scratches out, his mother leaning close to hear.

 

"We had to leave, Samuel."

 

The trailer rocks and sways over potholes and heaves.

 

"You should have left me there. I should be with him - "

 

A wet drop falls on Sam's hand; Jackie's eyes are full of tears.

 

"He's gone, Sam."

 

Sam's assaulted all at once. Vivid images and sounds fill his senses. Dean on the ground, Katie's blood-soaked hair, the stained knife falling into Sam's hand. Dean's eyes just before the light dimmed, green fading forever. The unresponsive body that no amount of shaking or screaming could revive.

 

He _can't_...

 

Sam nearly shoves his mother to the floor when he lurches up off the bed and yanks open a cabinet door.

 

"Samuel?"

 

Ben, in the driver's seat, cranes his head to see the commotion. Sam neither hears nor cares what Jackie's telling him. His intentions are clear to them when his fingers close around a dusty bottle and triumphantly pull it from the shelf.

 

"Don't, Sam," he can make out Ben, but he yanks the stopper off the old malt whisky anyway. The burn of the liquor starts to replace the burn of recollection, the latter more painful and harder to obscure.

 

Jackie tries to get a hand on the rapidly emptying bottle.

 

"Samuel, this won't help," she gentles.

 

"Then take me back," he lowers the whisky for a moment.

 

"There's nothing - "

 

"Dean is there!" He grates out before his voice drops dangerously. " _Take me back_."

 

"No, Sam." It's Ben who answers, attention split between his family and the highway. "Going back won't change anything."

 

Jackie's mute and there's no shortage of tears spilling from her eyes.

 

"Fine," Sam rasps, raising the bottle once more to his chapped, bitten lips.

 

It doesn't take long for oblivion to close in, dragging Sam down, down into its depths.

He can't discern where the caravan goes next.

 

Sam doesn't count the days that pass or the nights he endures. His world has narrowed to nothing beyond fitful sleep and hazy stupor, trying to keep the barrage of memories at bay.

 

Instead of getting easier to bear, Sam's pain grows the further they travel from Prestiage. It physically cripples him, unable to see the point of leaving his parents' vehicle, his old bed. Sam wishes the unceasing condolences could bring comfort - his friends and family try - but they fall hollow. He can understand their intentions but can't help the twist of his mind.

 

Ben and Jackie cater to him, treading carefully so as to not deepen his despair. Katie avoids him but he knows his mother - she'll attempt to bring them together. He won't face her - she was _there_ and seeing her would bring back more than he's capable of handling. 

 

But in the next town, Katie gathers her courage and approaches Sam where his sits, leaning outside his parents' vehicle and finding little solace in the turbulent, cloudy sky.

 

"Sam?" Her voice is small and questioning when he doesn't acknowledge her. "Sam, please. I'm so sorry."

 

It's the first time anyone's said they're _sorry_. That, more than Katie's appearance or plaintive pleas, breaks him.

 

"Don't, Katie," he rasps. "Just don't."

 

"I thought we could talk," she won't back away despite his cold countenance. "You haven't come back to our place since -”

 

"I'm fine here."

 

He withdraws into silence and she waits, arms crossed and eyes darting until the quiet unravels her nerve.

 

"Sam, you need to let me explain. I don't know why you won't let me say I'm sorry. I am - I'm _sorry_. Isn't there anything I can say?”

 

"Tell me why." He lets the light breeze carry his soft statement to her.

 

"What?"

 

"Tell me _why_ you needed to go off that night," he mutters, not even mustering the strength to look at Katie. "Why did Dean and I have to come for you? Every night, you wandered into places like that. If you'd never gone..."

 

"I can't -”

 

"Tell me!" He drags empty eyes to meet her horrified stare.

 

"It was all I had!" She starts to sob, face damp and quickly reddening. "You and the crowds - there was nothing else for me!"

 

"What does that have to do with anything?" He spits, anger caught in his throat, threatening to tear loose and ravage anyone in its path.

 

"My mother never cared about me, not really," she steps away, a small shift but noticeable. "Our patrons, they adored me. They adored you too, Sam. Their love was better than nothing."

 

"So you basked in it?" She nods. "You reveled in the empty compliments and the 'shine soaked promises."

 

"Wait, no. Sam..."

 

"That wasn't love, Katie!" He pushes himself off the ground, adrenaline and rage fueling the energy he lacked. "It was infatuation. It was _nothing_!"

 

"Sam!" Katie backs away, fully weeping.

 

"We went there for _nothing_!" He screams now, and passerby stop to watch the scene but none try to interfere. "I _had_ love, Katie, and I lost it for _nothing_!"

 

"Samuel!"

 

It's not Jackie's voice that stops his tirade, but Rosalyn's. Sam catches her out the corner of his eye, his focus splintered.

 

"Stay out of this, enchantress!" He utters the name with as much scorn he can muster.

 

She barely blinks at the vitriol. "Let Katie leave, Sam."

 

Looking back to his dearest friend, he can see the fear he's caused in her eyes. He doesn't even care.

 

"I have nothing more to say to her."

 

She chokes out a pained sob and turns, fleeing as quickly as she came. Sam leans back against the trailer and slides down.

 

Rosalyn says nothing more but she remains at the edge of his sight until night falls and the chimes signal the end of another interminable day.

 

And then, the memories come.

_"What do you want, Dean?"_

_"A decent meal and a bigger bed."_

_His lover's straight face catches him until Dean's smile turns upward, cracking the serious expression. Sam laughs and curls closer, arm across Dean's back and their faces lying close on a shared pillow._

_"Can you repeat the question?" Dean's breath stirs over Sam's lips, unnecessarily quiet; they're alone in the trailer._

_"What do you want?" With each word, Sam walks his fingers across the stripes, patterns long memorized. "I know how you feel about the life you've been given."_

_Dean snorts beneath Sam's arm._

_"I want," Dean's eyes drop to the sheet, to Sam's bare chest - anywhere but Sam's inquiring stare. "Seriously, Sammy? I don't know. How about a life without half-memories? One that's not cursed by an unfinished destiny, whatever the hell that means. I want the chance for a full life - no strings, no do-overs. No unknown power supposedly holding the reigns."_

_Sam doesn't say anything, knowing he's not meant to. The moment stretches heavy before Dean smiles again._

_"Oh yeah, and no crazy enchantress teaching me to do tricks for idiots to clap at. I definitely don't want that."_

_"I'll keep you away from any more witches and enchantresses."_

_"In this life and the next?"_

_"Dean -"_

_"Don't start, Sammy," Dean sighs, but Sam can tell he's trying to keep his tone light. "You'll be there, I know you will."_

_"What if I'm not?"_

_"Sammy," Dean shuffles closer, not even an inch between them. "There's no me without you, I already know that. So don't even think about it."_

_"Someday..."_

_"Yeah," Dean nods, already knowing what Sam's trying to say. "Someday we'll have a whole life, together."_

_"Mmmm, yeah."_

They hurt, tearing at Sam's heart and mind until he can barely move. Every vision of Dean's easy smile, every sense memory of soft fur and an affectionate touch is like another turn of the blade in his heart. His steady supply of alcohol and malts only dull the pain, but he keeps trying.

 

Maybe this time. Maybe after the next drink, he won't be able to see the dark patterns on Dean's skin or feel light breath across his lips jump before Dean kisses him.

 

Every time, it fails to finish the job.

 

Rosalyn comes to him; Sam wakes from a dizzy sleep to find her sitting beside the cramped bed, silent and calm. He turns his head away, unable to bear her gaze, but she is unshakable.

 

"He's not gone, Sam," she begins quietly. "Somewhere beyond our world, he still lives. The guise may change, but the soul remains."

 

"But not with me."

 

Sam's soul is bound here; wherever Dean is, Sam knows he's alone.

 

"He won't be whole," he whispers painfully. " _I_ make him whole."

 

Rosalyn doesn't deny it. He can hear the witch setting aside a bottle that Sam emptied at some point in the night. His mouth is dry as spun cotton and his temples pulse in a maddening rhythm.

 

"Do you remember Dean's pain at the memories that would not come?"

 

Sam gives no answer. Being able to recall everything is the problem he's trying to drown.

 

"Would you erase him, Sam?"

 

"What am I supposed to do?" He flips and tries to sit up, groggy muscles near to giving out. "I remember it all, Rosalyn! I remember the sounds he made when we were together. The look in his eyes the first time he saw me." Even now, the images bring tears to his eyes - Sam almost thought there were no tears left. "I can't forget the way he looked when he died, the feel and the smell of his blood on my hands, his limp body. The way he said my _name_ when..." Sam's voice breaks into a sob.

 

"That's the trick with memories," she doesn't smile, meeting Sam's tortured gaze. "You have to take the good and the bad."

 

"And if I want none?"

 

She sighs, the sound full of sorrow and disappointment. "If you choose to forget Dean, you never deserved his love in the first place."

 

"How can you say that?"

 

"How can you choose to lose him?" She fires back with just as much venom. "You never wanted him to forget you, never wanted him to leave you. And now you're betraying him."

 

"I'm not -”

 

"You _are_."

 

He cannot withstand her stare any longer, turning again to face away. "Why are you doing this?"

 

"I only ever wanted you and Dean to find happiness."

 

There's nothing he wants to say; Sam shuts down and sags into the mattress. Long minutes pass before he hears the enchantress stand and walk away.

 

"Then you failed." He whispers it into the emptiness and starts when Rosalyn's voice answers back from beyond the door.

 

"Did I?"

When the tears are finally gone and the sympathy of others only makes Sam angrier, there is nothing left but fury and resentment. From close friends to mere acquaintances, Sam spares no one and eventually he's mostly left alone. Those who still try to console him face the brunt of his wrath and cruelty.

 

Jackie holds out longer than Ben. His father, bless him, tries to draw Sam’s mood out of the darkness with distraction and nonsense. But after a week of Sam’s silence and ignorance, Ben’s pasted-on smile finally fades and he distances himself from Sam, believing that if he wants separation, Ben’s willing to oblige. Perhaps it will bring Sam back to them sooner.

 

He doesn’t bother to correct them.

 

His mother is the opposite; initially keeping her distance before starting quiet and always one-sided conversations while Sam sits motionless beside her. When Jackie's efforts fail to bring a response, she turns to desperate pleas.

 

Sam tries to remember, and Rosalyn reminds him, that no one knows of Dean’s dichotomous life. It hardly matters. None know that his days and nights were spent in Dean’s company or that Sam had given both sides of himself to Dean’s safekeeping. 

 

Their comforts are hollow and worthless, more so that they barely comprehend why he needs them.

 

Eventually Rosalyn corners him behind a rocky outcropping. He hasn’t spoken for two days.

 

“I didn’t know, Sam,” she answers his unvoiced question. Her silky voice is finally shaken, wavering further when he fixes her with his dark stare. “That it would end like this. I would have -“

 

“What?” His voice is raspy and dry from disuse, sounding foreign and malicious. “You would have _what_ , Rosalyn? Don't finish that statement unless you have something to say beyond comforting yourself or alleviating your own guilt.”

 

She turns and leaves without another word, just as he expects.

 

And Katie – she is the most difficult. She was Sam’s silent, curious shadow when they first met, and she returns to her quiet followings now. There’s no curiosity, only concern and self-loathing, neither of which Sam is interested in discussing. She haunts his steps, diminished and sad, as if waiting for Sam to turn and reassure her.

 

He cannot.

 

Katie is a constant reminder of his loss and she doesn’t deserve Sam’s anger for that which she cannot change. Her face makes him wish _she_ had died and Dean had lived, and it is _that_ horrifying and inexplicable rage which finally pushes him to leave.

 

In the dead of night he sneaks away, no longer able to bear the sorrow of others. There are no witnesses to his cowardly escape save the stars and moon that light his way. Sam packs little, needing nothing, and knows where he’s going – no wandering path beneath his feet, no gypsy’s roaming spirit filling his head.

 

Passing the borders of their camp with silent tread, Sam meets the eyes of the one who began this. Fitting then, that Rosalyn should be there to see its end. Unlike in days past, she isn't sad; there is no pity shining from her dark gaze. They consider each other for a moment but no words are spoken – no protests or apologies to fill the final silence.

 

And then, he is gone.

  


 

_I know not where you are, I do not know_

_If Heaven hold you or if earth transmute,_

_Body and soul, you into earth again;_

_But this I know: -- not for one second's space_

_Shall I insult my sight with visionings_

_Such as the credulous crowd so eager-eyed_

_Beholds, self-conjured, in the empty air._

_Let the world wail! Let drip its easy tears!_

_My sorrow shall be dumb!_   


Sam always imagined death would be painful and hard. He can still see Dean choking on his empty breaths, blood everywhere mixing with Sam’s unstoppable tears.

 

Yet Sam’s end comes peacefully. Easily. 

 

He sits by the mound of Dean’s grave, unchanged in the weeks he's been gone, and drifts. Sam falls away from the earth and all of the pain it still holds. He wallows in an unchanging haze of memory and anguish until he remembers nothing at all.

 

And like the fog that withers beneath a warming sky, Samuel Montgomery is no more.

  


 

_Ah, I am worn out -- I am wearied out --_

_It is too much -- I am but flesh and blood,_

_And I must sleep. Though you were dead again,_

_I am but flesh and blood and I must sleep._

 

 

Continued in the Epilogue.

 


	6. Epilogue

  


 

_And all at once the heavy night_

_Fell from my eyes and I could see, --_

_A drenched and dripping apple-tree,_

_A last long line of silver rain,_

_A sky grown clear and blue again._

_And as I looked a quickening gust_

_Of wind blew up to me and thrust_

_Into my face a miracle_

_Of orchard-breath, and with the smell, --_

_I know not how such things can be! --_

_I breathed my soul back into me._

_Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I_

_And hailed the earth with such a cry_

_As is not heard save from a man_

_Who has been dead, and lives again._   


It's not unlike waking up from a vivid dream, body confused and lethargic.

 

He returns to consciousness without the anchor of a sleep-heavy form, and all around him golden grass spreads out like a shimmering blanket over the earth. No recognition comes with the setting and he stands on shaking legs to look around.

 

"Samuel Montgomery."

 

Spinning, he sees another person, someone who hadn't been there a moment ago.

 

"Is that my name?"

 

The figure grins, and a name flits across his memory too quickly to grab.

 

"One of them, yes."

 

"I don't recognize it."

 

"Sam Winchester."

 

Nothing takes hold. Even the figure's form wavers before his eyes, barely maintaining one shape before it changes. The voice is that of a woman, eloquent and warm. She stands with the sun behind her, a bright light obscuring her face. 

 

He closes his eyes against the spots that dance through his vision. When he opens them, he can see her more clearly.

 

She's beautiful, a daunting presence yet she still smiles at him, easing the threat.

 

"Who are you?"

 

"I'm hurt, Sam. You don't remember me?"

 

As she steps closer, his eyes focus and he can discern dark, nearly black eyes, and strong features.

 

"Think, Sam. Remember."

 

The command is uttered and he feels a touch to his face, but there's no one beside him. The woman only smiles, charmed with his confusion, and waits.

 

Then, like a wave crashing upon him, he's inundated by images and thoughts. There are things he feels connected to - parents, a family, admiration - and some he cannot place. Too many, they don't stop coming. Some are horrific - wars, loss, pain, evil. Lives are lived in the span of seconds, ending before he can grasp them. More and more pain until he's nearly bent double with the memory of it. He wants it to end, needs the raging torrent to cease, but there's still more.

 

He calls out to the woman but she doesn't move, leaving him to the onslaught.

 

His mind is full and his body aching. When he can stand no more, he drops to his knees in the field and screams. Only then does the assault cease as a pair of green eyes comes to the forefront of his memory. Merely remembering them eases his pain and ends his suffering.

 

And only then, does he know.

 

"Rosalyn," he gasps.

 

"Sam."

 

There's only one question in his head, pounding with the need to escape.

 

"Where's Dean?"

 

The witch - no, not a witch, she's something more - Rosalyn looks around before meeting Sam's eyes again.

 

"He's gone, Sam."

 

"What does that mean?" 

 

He remembers other conversations with Rosalyn - always enigmatic and frustrating. She appraises Sam. Every cell of his being is deciphered as if judging him worthy or lacking.

 

Her eyes flash and he awaits her verdict.

 

"Dean has been through so much in his many lives, Sam. More pain than even you've endured. If I were to bring him back from that, allow him to remember, it would be unimaginably cruel."

 

"Is it done, then?" He wonders aloud.

 

"His path has been traveled."

 

Sam exhales with relief even as his heart clenches tightly at the thought that Dean's soul will never again be set upon the earth.

 

And then Rosalyn says something to twist Sam's painful relief to bewilderment.

 

"If I offered you ten whole years with Dean, returned hale and complete, what would you give me in return?"

 

He snaps his eyes up, barely comprehending the strange offer.

 

"I - what are you saying?"

 

"I once said I was a guardian," she explains, and that memory forms in Sam's mind. "A finder of lost souls. I may have misspoken then."

 

"Ten years," he tries, imagining long days with Dean beneath the Southern Sun, breathing the fresh air of the Eastern Mountains and seeing the sights of the Western Provinces, traveling their favorite paths through the great Northern Expanses.

 

Then he hears Dean's sleepy, sure voice.

 

_I want the chance for a full life - no strings, no do-overs. No unknown power supposedly holding the reigns._

 

"No."

 

"You don't want a fresh start with Dean?"

 

"We deserved forever, Rosalyn, for the things we had to endure." Sam can feel the truth as he's speaking it. "Dean wanted a full life, free of painful memories. _I_ want the life we were planning before he was taken from me."

 

"You're not even curious of the terms?"

 

"I don't care," he steels himself. "My answer is no."

 

Like the sun dawning on a new day, Rosalyn's smile is bright and remarkable; yet it's unexpected.

 

"I'm glad to see you haven't changed, Sam," she laughs airily.

 

Baffled and getting weary, he sighs. "Why did you bring me here, Rosalyn? What am I supposed to do?"

 

"You live out _this_ life, here on the lands you loved, as you were meant to."

 

The scenery remains foreign but he takes in the clear sky, the colorful expanses of land surrounding him.

 

He can barely get the breath to speak. "You brought me _back_ to..."

 

"To the place you _belong_ ," she clarifies. "Where your heart was truly content."

 

_Where Dean was with you_.

 

"How?" he stumbles for an answer.

 

"You and Dean were dear to my heart, Sam. I couldn't let your story end the way it has, over and over again."

 

He's not sure what is worse - a life without Dean or the possibility of oblivion.

 

"I - I can't stay here."

 

"Of course you can," she waves aside the weak protest. "I don't give favors easily, Sam. This is my gift to you. It's not a fresh start, but it's a chance very few are ever granted."

 

"My family?"

 

"They're somewhere out there, Sam." Rosalyn smiles and suddenly - _finally_ \- Sam sees her as one of the most beautiful things he's ever laid eyes on. "You'll find them, I have no doubt."

 

"How can I return to them now?" Sam asks meakly. He doesn't even know how long it's been since he fled the pitying stares and empty condolences. It could be weeks. Or _centuries_. His family would never forgive him - Sam wouldn't forgive _himself_.

 

"They'll be thrilled to have you back, Sam. You'll make things right. I _know_ you," Rosalyn reassures, ignoring his inner torment. "You _and_ Dean."

 

"Dean and... _what?_ "

 

"Trust me, Sam. Have you ever not?" She grins benevolently but he stammers. "Best not to answer that, I think. I do have my less-than-charitable moments. But I want this for you, and for Dean."

 

Rosalyn steps up to him then, deep obsidian eyes urging a calm Sam doesn't feel.

 

"Take care, Sam, I have a feeling we won't meet again. I'm afraid my days of animal enchanting are finished. Try to forget everything besides that which matters most. And," she grins for a final time, "I believe it's very nice in Dunham this time of year."

 

He feels two cool fingertips touch his forehead and his vision blurs. 

 

Blinking away the fog, he finds himself back on the ground with the sun full above. There are sounds now where before there was only echo and sensation. Birds call from above, circling paths in the heavens. The blades of thick grass are crisp beneath his hands and Sam grips tightly to the earth, afraid to spin away.

 

Lying there, the tranquility Rosalyn had tried to impart descends over Sam. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes against the rays of light.

 

A warm hand touches his shoulder and he jerks up, and then falls into the most superbly vibrant green eyes. The irises are clear, unburdened with the past horrors Sam only recently remembered. His hold on those visions now is tenuous, and he releases them into the fresh breeze, letting his own gaze reflect a pure, simple joy.

 

Cheeks dusted by the sun's light round into a smile.

 

"Hey, Sammy."

  
_The world stands out on either side_

_No wider than the heart is wide;_

_Above the world is stretched the sky, --_

_No higher than the soul is high._

_The heart can push the sea and land_

_Farther away on either hand;_

_The soul can split the sky in two,_

_And let the face of God shine through._

_But East and West will pinch the heart_

_That can not keep them pushed apart;_

_And he whose soul is flat -- the sky_

_Will cave in on him by and by._

 

 

**FIN.**

 

  



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